


Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

by LostMyMarbles



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Darcyland (Marvel), F/M, Friendship, Politics, Romance, that Darcy Lewis/Victor von Doom Fic That Nobody Asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 73,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostMyMarbles/pseuds/LostMyMarbles
Summary: Change or die.It is the quintessential lesson of life.  If one does not change, one grows stagnant, and in that stagnation, nothing can thrive.Victor von Doom has been pondering, of late, this philosophical quandary.





	1. Prologue

He stood by the edge of the sea, considering for long minutes, before he activated and threw the crystal as far and as deep as he could. Only then did he recline in the throne his robots had brought with them, there on the barren gravel, far from most eyes. He might have to wait for days; he had prepared for that. But he did not think so. His old…companion…was nothing if not prompt.

A break in the endless silver topped waves, and then another, a few hours later, and he rose, motioning to one of the ‘bots beside him; wine was poured into silver goblets, warmed gently, and when Namor, Imperius Rex, finally rose dripping from the ocean, Victor Von Doom held one of the warmed cups out to him. “Hail, King of Atlantis.” The voice that emanated from behind the iron mask was grating and deep, and Namor dipped his head in recognition.  
“Hail, Lord Protector of Latveria.” Slender fingers accepted the cup, a slight smile rising to his aquiline features as he inhaled the bouquet. “Very nice. Marilyn Monroe Merlot?”

“A rare vintage, these days,” Doom said quietly, and gestured to the silver throne beside his own of steel. “Would you possibly have time to chat with an old…acquaintance?”

Namor nodded, sipping his wine, and took the seat offered. “Would you care for refreshment as well? I can call upon my servants to bring us the fruits of the sea,” he offered, but Doom waved away the offer.

“Doom thanks you, but no, your Grace.” He waited until Namor had made himself comfortable before taking his seat again. “How fares Atlantis, pearl of great price?”

“We are doing very well indeed; the new trade agreement with India is moving along nicely, and our mining operations in the Trench is up eight percent in production,” Namor began. His hair, raven black, fluttered a bit in the wind, just as Victor’s emerald cape did, while the two spoke of their respective countries. When those topics were at last exhausted, Doom’s face lowered, as if he were gazing into his own still half-full cup of wine for guidance, or perhaps to scry.

“Doom -- I. Damn.” He shook his head, and Namor watched with a curious expression as Doom seemed to gather himself for something, not battle, certainly, for there were no enemies about them, but still something troubling. “Namor. You…changed. At least, you no longer seem convinced of overthrowing the surface world.”

“I did, yes. It would be a costly folly, and like as not impossible,” Namor agreed. “Do I still think Atlantis superior? In some ways, yes. But you did not ask me here to opine on philosophy, Victor.”

“Did I not?” The brown eyes peering from the slits of the mask were weary, as was the tone of his voice. “I have been doing a great deal of thinking lately, Namor. And it seems to me that I have…” he looked away, toward the expanse of the sea before continuing. “I have miscalculated a great deal, over the years.” Namor’s left eyebrow rose, just a bit, but he said nothing, only waited for Doom to continue. “It is difficult. To admit that one has been in error for most of one’s life.”

“It is,” Namor agreed.

“I do not know what to think anymore. What to do. I know that the paths I have tread lead inevitably to failure and destruction, and yet I return to them time and again; what is the saying? Performing the same actions in the same way is the definition of insanity?” Doom turned to face the King of Atlantis again, his eyes, the only feature visible of his face, pleading. “Am I insane, Namor?” 

“An insane man would not have called for me to come and speak with him on this subject,” Namor said after a moment. “I would say instead that perhaps you are now experiencing lucidity for the first time in a long, long while.” Carefully, Namor put down his cup. “Are you asking for help, Victor? And if so, what kind of help do you seek?”

“I…I do not know what I am asking for,” Doom admitted. “I only know I cannot go on in the same fashion. I cannot. My wild grasping for power and control have led me to extremes, extremes I do not care to elaborate upon, but I will say that I am ashamed of. I have sacrificed so much, so much, and I do not…I do not wish to continue on this path.”

“Then step off of it,” Namor replied briskly. “Turn to a new road. You can, Victor. If anyone can, it is you, your will is stronger than any other human I have ever met. I have no doubt, none at all, that if you wished it, truly, you could change, for yourself and for your people.”

“Do you think so?” The whisper was half-broken, almost inaudible over the sound of the sea surrounding them. But Namor’s hearing was enhanced by his Atlantean blood, and he was well used to parsing other sounds from that of waves crashing on shore. Namor, King of Atlantis, stood then, and offered Victor Von Doom his hand.

“I do not think so. I am sure of it, Victor, and I will help you in any way that I can.”

Slowly, as if afraid, Doom’s hand crept up to grasp Namor’s. “It is hard,” he said, his entire body shaking. “It is difficult to speak of this, even with you.”

“Of course it is,” Namor agreed. “The greatest battles are always those fought within one’s self, and often as men we are taught never to doubt, never to consider that we might possibly be wrong; doubly so for a ruler. And sometimes, that is wise advice, sometimes doubt hinders us. Other times, and I believe this to be one of those, doubt and concern can show us a better path, a brighter future.”

“That…could be so. That could certainly be so.”


	2. Chapter 1

“Uh, guys?” Iron Man squawked over the comm, and Hawkeye cursed under his breath as he loosed another arrow, drawing a new one from his quiver and getting a bead on another of the robotic birds. “We’ve got a serious problem.”

“Robot birds that blow up aren’t enough of a problem, Tony?” Natasha asked, kicking one into the air, away from the plate glass windows of the street. 

“Yeah. Apparently not,” Iron Man replied. “Somebody needs to get Strange, now, FRIDAY, call Stephen Strange, he’s in my --“ The roar interrupted him, and Hawkeye looked up to see now a shimmering dragon approaching from the west.

“HOLY SHIT!” 

“Language,” ‘Tasha said acerbically over the comm. “I see it. What is that thing?”

“Robot dragon,” Iron Man updated her. “Looks to be about the size of a -- oh now that’s just -- what --“ Confusion filled Iron Man’s voice. “The hell?”

“What is it, Tony? What’s going on?” Hawkeye asked.

“Doom. Doom’s…Doom’s here. And he’s drawing the dragon away from us,” Tony said, disbelief joining the confusion. “No giant proclamation, no DOOM IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE YOU NOW, no bullshit, he’s just…doing it.”

“What are the chances that he sent the damn thing and it’s a PR stunt?” Hawkeye muttered; he had no love for Doctor Doom.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think -- aaaand right on cue, there’s Richards. Have you guys got the Pidgeottos under control, ‘cause this could turn ugly,” Iron Man asked.  
“Falcon’s on his way, right?”

“ETA thirty seconds,” Sam chirped over the comm. “That thing is huge as fuck, y’all. Maybe a thousand yards from head to tail, and it’s shooting laser beams at Doom, too.”

“Of course it is,” Tony added. “And there’s Richards trying to wrap around it, that’ll end well, guys, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m gonna go help Doom out.”

“Go, we got this,” Natasha said curtly, and Hawkeye turned his attention completely back to the issue at hand, namely, shooting birdies from the sky before they could detonate.

 

“Why did you do this?” Tony could hear Reed screaming from a few hundred yards away. “This is insanity, Victor, why --“

“Hey, Stretch,” Tony called as he flew up, firing repulsors at the dragon; it was made of a metal he had never seen before, and he was well versed in metallurgy. “Where’s the rest of the Fearsome Foursome?” Richards’ head turned, slamming towards Tony from his hovercraft.

“Defending the Baxter Building. This is obviously a feint of some kind,” Reed snapped. 

“Yeah, no, we’ve been fighting birds made of this same alloy in the city proper for the last two hours,” Tony snapped. “Jaws here only showed up when this came into view, and he was already fighting it, trying to hold it off. So where the hell have you been the last two hours?” 

“The birds are a minor inconvenience,” Reed said, and Tony lost his cool completely.

“They’re rigged to blow if they get within two feet of the ground, asshat,” he shouted. “I don’t even want to think about what this would do if it got too close to the surface!” Exasperated, he flew to where Dr. Doom levitated, drawing the dragon towards himself with some kind of purple laser. “No wonder you hate him so much,” Tony sighed. “You got a plan, Doom?”

“I do,” was the reply, and Tony’s head jerked up at the difference in Doom’s speech patterns; usually it would be “Doom does indeed, peasant,” or some shit like that. “I would like to get just a little closer, Iron Man, to ensure that I am correct about the genesis of this creation. Do you think you can hold its attention for a few moments?” Doom cut his eyes toward Tony. “And try to keep Richards from killing us all?”

“I can do the first, no problem, chrome dome, but the second, that’s an issue. He’s a dick.” 

“He has ever been so,” Doom sighed. “Sixty seconds is all I ask.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hey Auntie Anne, leave Doom alone while he checks this out,” Tony shouted as Reed came closer. 

“It’s obviously a trap, Tony --“

“Just on the off chance he’s playing straight, okay? One full minute. Go, Vic, I got your back.”

“Thank you, Iron Man,” Doom replied, inclining his head just a fraction before flying --

“HOLY CHRIST!”

\-- straight between the dragon’s jaws as Tony fired his hand repulsors at full blast at the beast, backing away, away, farther and farther out to sea, drawing the dragon out with him, Richards speechless, his hovercraft directly in the way of --  
“Get out of the way, dumbass, Jesus!” Just in the nick of time, the hovercraft zoomed away from the dragon’s wing before it connected, and Doom flew back out of the dragon’s mouth, coming back toward Tony.

“It is an artificial construct created by a madman from another dimension,” he reported. “Someone who calls himself Kang the Conqueror.” 

“Oh joy,” Tony sighed. “Ideas?”

“Oh, yes,” Doom nodded. “I propose to return the package to its sender.” He made some sort of motion with his hands, muttering under his breath, and a giant fire rimmed circle appeared, about half a mile away. “A moment, now.” Sure enough, a few seconds later, the dragon began to fade, becoming translucent, then transparent, finally shimmering away.

“Iron Man, report,” Cap’s voice came over the comm. “All the birds have disappeared.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Doom just…Doom just got rid of the dragon, too. We’re clear out here, Cap.”

“Great. We’re going back to the Tower for debrief. Meet us there.”

“Yep, just a sec.” Tony left his comm open as he waited for Doom to close the portal again. “So what brought you here, anyway?”

“I noted the disruption in the space-time continuum,” Doom said, but he wasn’t looking at Tony. “Move!” He dove toward Iron Man, driving both of them down toward the sea, as the Fantastic Four hovercraft hurtled toward the space they had been in. “Sorry, he’s --“

“No, he’s being a serious dick,” Tony agreed. “Why don’t you come back to the tower, we’ll have burritos? It’s Hawkeye’s turn to pick the after-fight food, he always chooses burritos.”

“I…appreciate the invitation, Iron Man, but I’m afraid I must decline. Thank you for your assistance.” Doom straightened, hesitated, then held out his hand. “Mr. Stark.”

“Um. Yeah.” Tony gingerly accepted the handshake, and once they were no longer touching, Doom teleported away. “Huh.”

“Why did you let him get away?” Richards shouted. “He’s going to the Baxter Building now, I know it!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Stretch,” Tony said quietly. “I really don’t.” With that, Tony flew off, turning his comm private, just between him and Cap. “Cap. You heard that?”

“I did,” came the answer. “What exactly happened?”

“Richards tried to run us down, he would have gone through me to get to Doom, if Doom hadn’t seen him,” Tony sighed. “I’ll be home in two, just…”

“Just what, Tony?” Steve asked, Steve, not Cap. There was a difference in the tone of his voice, it was gentler, certainly warmer.

“Just something is up with Doom. Definitely something different. He shook hands, Steve. He offered, and he shook hands. And he said thank you. Doom -- you know, he doesn’t do that.”

“No. No, he usually doesn’t.” Steve’s end of the line went quiet. “Maybe…maybe we should look into what’s going on lately in Latveria. You know Putin’s all about recreating the Soviet Union, maybe he’s looking for allies in case things go bad.”

“That’s a possibility, and it’s a good idea,” Tony agreed as he landed on the roof, the suit falling away from him, picked up efficiently by one of the ‘bots. “FRIDAY, download the video and audio of today, especially the last few minutes with Dr. Doom, analyze his voice and body language, get back to me with the results ASAP, okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” the AI agreed.

“I want you to play the video on my mark in the conference room. It’s important; I want the rest of the team to know just how helpful Reed was.”

“He certainly seemed so willing,” FRIDAY agreed, sarcasm lacing her voice. She was coming along nicely, he thought; she might not ever pass the Turing test, but then again…then again, she might. She just might. Tony grabbed a smoothie from the fridge in the communal kitchen, and headed to the conference room, entering with a smile that hid his current contemplation, nodding to Pepper beside the door. 

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” She asked, a tiny smile lighting her face, to be met by his own, a bit smugly.

“That will be all, Miss Potts.” He lingered in the doorway, letting her surreptitiously run her fingernails over his back as she walked away, running shivers up his spine. Promises for later. Taking his seat, he propped his feet on the conference table, grinned wildly up at Steve, who was shaking his head with a small smile of his own. “Cap.”

“Tony. Okay. Let’s go over what worked, what didn’t, and what we can learn.” For about ten minutes, Captain America and the Black Widow went over the footage FRIDAY had pulled from surveillance cameras, pointing out holes in their strategies, flaws in their systems, and the team discussed how to do a better job next time. However, they all kept cutting their eyes to Tony, obviously curious about the run-in he’d had with Doom and Richards, and eventually, Cap nodded to him. “Iron Man. You were with the dragon at the end -- God, that sounds weird,” Cap chuckled, shaking his head. “Fill us in.”

“Sure thing. FRIDAY?” Immediately, the screen filled with the silvery dragon, and Doom before it, blasting it and obviously trying to draw it away from New York. “So this is what I flew into. Note the weird purple laser things, if you will, that Doom’s using. They’re obviously keeping the dragon’s attention, but they’re not really like any lasers I’ve seen. Guys?”

“Eldritch magics,” Scarlet Witch said, her eyes narrowing as she watched. “Von Doom is known for wielding such things.” She frowned as the scene unfolded before them. “He isn’t…this is…”

“Why isn’t he being as belligerent and DOOM-y as usual?” Hawkeye asked, leaning forward over the table. “He’s almost…I wouldn’t say he’s being friendly, because I don’t think he knows how to be friendly, but…”

“Casual. He’s being casual,” Tony agreed. “He’s not doing the whole FEAR DOOM thing. He’s…guys, I was there. He was trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah, but Doom, you know? He’s not being an -- oh, Christ, here’s the asshat,” Clint sighed as Richards came into view again. His fists clenched on the table as Richards spoke dismissively of the explosive birds. “That utter bastard! He didn’t care! He didn’t --“

“No.” Tony agreed, his voice and expression flat. “He didn’t. FRIDAY, what are the current civilian casualty numbers?”

“Eight dead, 46 injured, financial damage estimated so far as less than ten million, sir.”

“Do me a solid, send all four members of the Fantastic Four a private email detailing those numbers, and attach the video where Reed says the birds are a minor inconvenience,” Tony ordered. “And ask Pepper to implement Plan Hippocrates for the injured, and offer Hades to the survivors of the dead.”

“Yes, sir.” The Avengers watched the rest of the footage silently until Doom dove toward Tony, the camera in his mask capturing the bright blue F4 on the hovercraft speeding within a foot above the two as they descended, then righted themselves. That drew a whole new round of shouts of “dickmunch!” “Asshole!” “Fuckface!” Captain America, Tony, and Natasha were the only three who remained silent, watching the film carefully.

“FRIDAY, rewind five seconds, replay at half speed,” Natasha ordered, and the film replayed as she watched, her arms crossing over her chest, green eyes sparking in anger as she did so. “Play on at normal speed,” she ordered afterward. They watched as Doom offered his hand, as Tony shook it, then Doom’s disappearance and Richards’ accusation.

“Thoughts?” Captain America asked after the clip was done.

“Richards did not even attempt to pull the hovercraft over Iron Man. He did not call out a warning. He was willing, in that instant, to drive right through Tony in order to perhaps do…something…to Doom,” Natasha said, her words clipped and precise, her eyes cold. “Perhaps he was trusting in the armor, in the warning system, but it was foolish and impulsive.”

“And dangerous,” Steve added, frowning. 

“Sir, I have finished the analysis you asked for,” FRIDAY offered. “According to my calculations, there is a 94.6 percent probability that Dr. Doom was indeed attempting to be, if not friendly, at least not unfriendly. At no time does his posture, respiration, or heartbeat indicate a threat toward you or even Mr. Richards.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell you what, look up any recent news stories -- let’s say within the last six months -- about Latveria, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Download them to my personal terminals. Okay,” he said, turning back to the rest of the Avengers. “So. Thoughts after hearing that?”

“Let’s…I don’t know…” Steve began. “Let’s look at it this way. It appears that maybe, just maybe, Doom showed up to help without an ulterior motive.”

“He had every right to unload on Richards after what he tried to do,” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And he didn’t.”

“No. He didn’t. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be cautious, Tony. Let’s put it this way; for now, unless he is actively trying to kill us or anyone else, we’ll treat him as a non-belligerent neutral. Best I can do, until we get more information,” Cap offered, and Natasha nodded.

“It is for the best at this point. He did one good thing. One unselfish act does not mean a change of heart, no matter how one might wish it,” she said slowly. “We wait and observe.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Wait and observe.”

“Why --“ Hawkeye began, and Tony cut him off.

“He’s a genius, he’s extremely powerful in his own right, and I’ve just…I’ve got a feeling.” Tony shrugged, looking down at his crossed arms. “It doesn’t hurt that he built himself a suit, you know?”

“No, cool, I get you,” Hawkeye shrugged. “I get you. Okay. So no aiming at Doom unless he aims at me first, got it.”

“Pass it on?” Wanda asked, and Steve nodded.

“Yes. Call Xavier’s school, if they want details, tell them to call me.” Steve’s chin lifted just a bit into what almost every Avenger liked to call his “Captain America” face. “I’ll explain if necessary.”

“Great. Can we have burritos now?” Sam asked, and everyone laughed.

“Dismissed,” Steve grinned. “Burritos sound really good right now.”

“You guys go on, I want to start a scan on the armor I wore today, be right there,” Tony promised as the Avengers rose to leave the room. He took the elevator to his workshop, waited a few beats just to make sure no one had followed him. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, sir?” The AI answered.

“Send the footage of our debrief to my terminal here.” He tapped out a quick email to the Latverian embassy in New York, requesting that they forward it to “the Lord Protector of Latveria.” Once done, he attached the video, and added a personal touch. “I want to give you a chance. I’m trying. Don’t let me down, okay?” He clicked send, and breathed a little easier as he left the workshop again, heading up for burritos and camaraderie. 

 

“Short stack!” Tony called the next day as he entered Jane’s labs. “Come with me. Foster, I’m stealing your R2 unit.”

“Beep-fuck-boop-you, Tony,” Darcy Lewis countered, looking up from the notes she was transcribing into English from Janese. 

“Even better, you’re Darcy-Wan Kenobi, and you’re my only hope. Come on.” He waved fingers at her, and she sighed, standing and grabbing her bag.

“Janey? You okay?”

“Yeah,” came the distant answer from behind one of Jane’s machines. “Yeah. You’re going with Tony. I ate about an hour ago, right?”

“Uh…yeah, about an hour and a half ago. I’m sure this won’t take too long. This won’t take too long, will it, Tone Loc?”

“No, Salt, it won’t,” he grinned. “What? I already have a Pepa.”

“And I would never dream of attempting to take her place, because she is a saint and a goddess among women,” Darcy said, following him out of the lab and down the hall to the elevator. Tony nodded.

“You have no idea how much I agree with that statement, Darce.” They entered the elevator, and Tony pressed a button to a few floors below, still within the Avengers block. “So. Your degree is in poli sci, right?”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “I’m working on my thesis for my master’s.”

“Awesome. But you get politics.” He cut a very serious look at her, and she nodded, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Well…yeah. I minored in history?”

“Great, that’s fabulous, because you may need both. I have a proposition for you, well, Pepper will explain it better, I think, maybe, but --“ he paused, then nodded to himself, stepping to the far side of the elevator. “Do me a solid, don’t freak out, okay? FRIDAY, halt the elevator, engage prime privacy mode, code HORNDOG.” Immediately, the elevator stopped, a second set of doors engaging over the first, and Darcy’s breath caught. “Listen,” Tony began. “That’s just a code word, it’s a joke, really. Here’s the thing. You know we were called out yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “Robot birds and then the dragon thing, it was on the news.”

“Great. Did you see who else was after the dragon thing?”

“No…” she dragged out the word. “Who?”

“Victor Von Doom.”

“Doctor DOOM? Was he --“

“No. He was helping us. And I kind of get the feeling maybe he doesn’t want to be quite such a dick anymore. I asked FRIDAY to give me a heads up on news out of Latveria, you know, political stuff and whatnot, and apparently there’s a lot. A LOT, lot. And I don’t get it all, but you.” Tony pointed at her. “You do. Or at least, I think you will.”

“Okay,” Darcy nodded. “You need me to go through the data and extrapolate what his intentions are?”

“Brilliant. You’re fucking brilliant, Short Stack, that’s it exactly. So Pepper and I talked about it this morning, and she’s going to go over all the paperwork, she’s actually waiting in your new office --“

“I get an office?”

“You get an office. With your own coffee machine. And a paycheck. A fairly decent paycheck. Because when we talked about it, Pepper said, well, I’ll let her tell you what she said. Long story short though, the Avengers Initiative and Stark Enterprises need an in-house political analyst, and guess what, you’ve got the clearance and you’ve got the background, you’re it.” Darcy’s jaw dropped, and Tony chuckled. “Looks like you’re in.”

“Uh, yeah!” Darcy agreed, then sobered. “But who’ll help Jane?”

“Oh, honey, we have minions! We have lots of minions. Minions who are drooling over the chance to maybe be able to work with Janey. No problem there, okay? She’ll have her choice of assistants, I promise.” Tony looked up at the ceiling. “Friday. You may disengage prime privacy mode and set us going again.” The inner elevator doors unlocked, and the elevator began to move again.

“They have to make sure she eats. She’s…” Darcy bit her lip. “She gets caught up, you know? And sleep. You don’t know how many sets of notes I’ve had to save after she fell asleep and knocked cold coffee onto them.”

“I get that,” Tony said, nodding. “I had a Rhodey and a Pepper, Jane had you. We’ll find her somebody, Darce.”

“Pinky swear?” Darcy held out her left hand, pinky extended, and Tony linked his right pinky with it solemnly.

“Pinky swear. I’ll go back up and talk to her in a minute. But I --“ the door opened, and he led her out into the hall, past several doors to where Pepper Potts stood smiling in a chic white dress with emerald green trim. “Pepper! Love of my life! Chatelaine of my tower!” 

“Tony, you just saw me an hour ago,” Pepper said, shaking her head softly, though she accepted and returned his hug. “Hi, Darcy. Did Tony get you up to date?”

“Somewhat,” Darcy said as she approached. “He said you’d fill in the details.”

“Of course. What’s next on your agenda, Mr. Stark?” Pepper asked, eyebrows rising.

“I…have to go talk to Foster and explain what’s up, and get her to set up interviews for her new science minions?” Tony offered, and Pepper nodded.

“Correct. And at four o’clock, you have a conference call with Zachary Belman and Paul Franklin, and you will be on that call, Tony. You will.”

“Right. Yes. I promise.” He shook his head no with every word.

“You will. And then we’ll order pizza from Val’s downstairs and watch Heavy Metal.”

“Oh. Well. If that’s on the agenda, absolutely. It’s…” he glanced at his watch. “It’s two. I have plenty of time.”

“Your office, Tony. I want you in your office at three forty-five,” Pepper said. “Not the workshop. Your office.”

“Right. Okay.” He pecked her cheek, clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “Have fun, Artoo, you get to sign lots of stuff now.”

“Sure,” Darcy agreed. “And Tony? Thanks.”

“No problem, squirt,” he offered breezily, passing by her on his way back to the elevator. “See you in a couple hours, Pep.” Pepper shook her head, her delicate gold earrings swaying as she did so, looking after him fondly.

“So, let’s go into your office, Darcy,” she offered, opening the door. The office wasn’t really that big, a standard room in the Tower. A desk faced the door, with two chairs before it, a computer, a coffeemaker on a small cabinet to the left with a ten gallon water cooler beside it. Pepper closed the door behind them, and took a seat in one of the chairs before the desk, Darcy joining her there instead of behind the desk. Not yet. Not yet. “There’s a communal kitchen on this floor as well; this is the Avengers’ legal advisory floor, everyone here has a clearance level or two below yours, but then, yours is special.” Pepper’s smile grew a little wider. “He’s right, I do have quite a few forms for you to fill out. There’s a scanner there,” she pointed. “If you’ll just scan the documents in and email them to HR, we’ll get everything taken care of.” Pepper half-frowned then. “How…have you been getting paid, working for Jane?”

“Yeah. She pays me out of the grants and whatnot,” Darcy said, nodding. “I mean, Tony pays for all of her stuff, right, but she still applies for grants and stuff from the government and NASA and whatnot and pays me out of those; she says it’s to make sure they don’t forget her name and what she’s discovered.”

“As if they could,” Pepper said, her smile returning. “I’m glad. I was concerned when I found you weren’t already on the payroll.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I live here, in Jane’s extra bedroom, to save some money. It’s expensive to live in New York, and it just gets worse every day,” Darcy sighed. “But. Can you fill me in a little more on what exactly you guys are looking for from me?”

“Absolutely,” Pepper nodded, setting the file folder down on the desk and facing Darcy. “Your first long-term assignment is to look through the files already in your Avengers Initiative email, I set that up for you, the password’s written on a Post-It underneath your mouse pad, feel free to change it but let me know what it is, just in case. You’re to read through them and draw what conclusions you can, write a report, and send it to me. FRIDAY will sift through the news for you and update you on any new stories regarding that assignment. Your short-term assignments will be kind of on-call, as it were; if the Avengers have to leave the country for threats on foreign soil, we’ll need to know how friendly or unfriendly those countries are to the Avengers specifically, and to the U.S. in general. I don’t know how much notice you’ll get for those short-term assignments, to be honest, and you will be awakened in the middle of the night to give opinions and advice.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed. “I guess that’s why I get the personal coffeemaker.” Pepper chuckled.

“And a mini-fridge and microwave,” she agreed. “We’re going to expand the political team in a week or two, but you’ll be the head of it, mainly because you will almost assuredly have the highest clearance. Do you have any experience heading a team?”

“I can do it. Can’t be any harder than herding scientists,” Darcy shrugged.

“I’m going to keep it at your level, bachelor’s degrees going on for master’s, and your team will consult with others who have doctorates in political science if you feel out of your depth or you want to get a second opinion. Can you get me a list of who you’d feel comfortable collaborating with or consulting with?”

“Yes. Absolutely, let me make a note of that,” Darcy nodded, taking her phone from her purse and opening her notepad app. “There we go. With an alarm….you’ll have that by the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Great. Well, I guess I’ll let you get to it. And…” Pepper looked a little…uncomfortable. “If necessary, I can make arrangements with Giada’s downstairs for an expense account? For business wear.” 

“I…no. No, I have…I dress like this for the lab, it’s safer,” Darcy said quickly, looking down at her jeans and blouse. “Sparks and stuff, you know.”

“I do,” Pepper nodded. “But the offer’s there, if you need it.”

“No. No, I’ve got business wear, Ms. Potts, I’ll dress for success from now on, no problem.” Pepper nodded briskly, tapping the folder on the desk as she stood, and Darcy stood a second later. “Thank you. For the job and…and everything.”

“It’s my pleasure to work with you, Darcy. Welcome, officially, to the team.” The two women shook hands, and Pepper left the office. Carefully, Darcy closed the office door behind her. Her office door. Her office. She had an office. And she would be using her degree, actually using her so-called “soft science” to help her friends, to help Thor and Clint and Sam and Tony and ‘Tasha. She walked around her desk, looking out over New York in the fall afternoon, and nodded to herself. “You got this, Darcy. You got this.” She made coffee, finding the three bags with a note -- “Didn’t know what roast/brand you preferred, tell Friday and it will be delivered, PP.” Then she sat down at her desk, her desk, she had her own desk, in her own office, and started filling out the paperwork.


	3. Chapter 2

A soft knock on her office door brought her back out of herself, and she looked up from her screen to the door. “Um. Come in?” Jane peeked around the door, her grin wide.

“I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!” She squealed, coming into the office, a wine bottle and two glasses in her other hand. “Oh my God, Darcy, this is amazing!”

“I know,” Darcy agreed, nodding excitedly. “Two seconds, Janey, let me save this, okay?” She bookmarked the article about Doom’s request to the United Nations and saved her notes before closing her tabs and screens and rising from her desk. Her desk. Yes, it was standard and she’d had one in the lab, but this was hers, in her office, and she was going to do a hell of a job because she knew that they were trusting her and she didn’t even have her master’s yet oh God. “Okay,” she said, turning off the coffeemaker and picking up her bag. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“All the celebrating,” Jane agreed. “I’ve ordered dinner and I went downstairs to Michelle’s and got you a chocolate orange.”

“You’re the best,” Darcy said, following Jane out the door and closing it behind her. The magnetic lock clicked, and she grinned at the nearest camera before heading for the elevator. “I guess Tony talked to you?” Jane’s ponytail bounced up and down ahead of her.

“Yeah. He explained everything, and I’m supposed to start meeting with some of his people in the morning to try to find a new set of assistants. Seriously, I’m going to need at least three to handle what you do,” Jane sighed. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss --“ Darcy shook her head, brown hair flying. “You’re not though. For…for the first time in…”

“Four years,” Jane said softly. “But I’m glad. I’m really glad, Darcy. I mean, I love you, you’re the sister I never had, but…”

“But I need to spread my wings. I get you,” Darcy agreed. “Well, the good news is I should definitely be able to afford my own apartment in a month or two, I’ve just got to save up for deposits and everything.”

“Yeah? That is good news,” Jane agreed. “Maybe next you’ll get a date.”

“Oh, shut up, I go out,” Darcy said, bumping shoulders with her friend. It wasn’t long before they were having dinner, Alessandro’s from downstairs. Darcy moaned just a little as she ate, the lasagna perfect, the breadsticks good and crunchy. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she admitted, taking a long drink of red wine. 

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Jane said, her smile quivering just a little. “Oh, this is going to be…it’s great, but I just know I’m going to miss you so much in the labs, Darce, I’m used to having you there…”

“Hey, now. Like I said, it’s gonna be a couple months before I move out anyway, I’m still gonna be around,” Darcy insisted. “And besides, I’m only five floors down from this floor and four down from the labs. It’ll be fine, Janey, we can have lunch together, we can go to the movies, it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. I know, and I know…Tony said what you’re doing is absolutely essential, really, for the Avengers, it’s just…I don’t like change in my personal life. It’s hard.”

“Awww. I know,” Darcy soothed. “But it’s not going to be that big a change. It’s not. And he promised me he would find you somebody good. So it’s gonna be okay.”

 

The next morning found Darcy up bright and early, her heels slightly muffled by the carpet of the building as she went downstairs to her office. Instead of her baggy sweater over a tee over jeans, she wore a black pencil skirt that fell just below her knees, white blouse, with a sapphire blue jacket for a pop of color. Her hair was up in a tight French braid, her bag replaced by the briefcase her Opa had given her for graduation. She nodded pleasantly to the few people she saw in the hallway of her floor, and went directly to her office, the door now bearing a brass nameplate; “Darcy Lewis, political analyst.” She couldn’t resist the smile that split her face, seeing it there, or taking a picture and sending it to her Opa and Oma. She had called them the night before, but that, that sort of made it a little more real.

She had just sat down behind her desk, coffee at two o’clock, notepad and pencil before her, when someone tapped on her closed office door. “Come in,” she called, and the door opened to show a stranger, an older woman with graying black hair.

“Good morning, Miss Lewis. I’m Linda, Linda Garrison. One of the attorneys for the Initiative.” Darcy rose from her seat, holding out her hand.

“Good morning, Ms. Garrison. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” the attorney replied, looking over the office. “Just started?”

“Yes, just yesterday actually.”

“Ms. Potts said that she’s going to be adding more analysts?”

“Yes. I’ll be heading the political team; of course we’ll leave the PR and the legal aspects to your team and PR, we’ll be offering political advice in regards to the different countries the Avengers might find themselves in,” Darcy explained. Ms. Garrison nodded slowly, her smile fading a bit, but never quite leaving her face.

“I head the legal team. I don’t know exactly how much we’ll work together, Ms. Lewis, but just in case there’s any friction between your team and mine, I’m who you’ll come to.”

“The same; I hope there won’t be any, though. I can’t really foresee any,” Darcy said, and Ms. Garrison nodded.

“Neither can I, right offhand, but one never knows, and it’s always best to know one’s peers and the chain of command. Well. I’ll let you get to it, my office is up the hall toward the elevator if you should need anything.”

“Thank you, Ms. Garrison. Good meeting you.”

“And you.” Darcy nodded, shook hands again, waited for the woman to leave before sitting back down at her desk. “FRIDAY, is there a way to engage do not disturb on this floor for the individual offices?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis. Would you like me to?”

“Give it another half hour, and then yes,” Darcy ordered. “Jane, any member of the actual Avengers Initiative, and Ms. Potts can override, but that’s it.”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis,” the AI agreed. “May I ask if the coffee provided was adequate?”

“Yes, it’s fine for now. I’d like to put in an order for a two pound bag of Thunderbolt French Roast starting next week, please.” 

“Yes, Miss Lewis. Weekly or bi-weekly delivery?”

“Ah…biweekly for now, I’ll reevaluate once I figure out how much I actually need?”

“Excellent. Will there be anything else?”

“Not right now, FRIDAY, thanks so much.”

Her first real day of work as a political analyst went well, she thought. She read through the various articles and watched the news clips that had had aggregated over the last six months about the political situation of Latveria, taking careful notes, until lunch. During her lunch (a very nice lunch of fruit and soup, thanks, she’d had all the carbs the night before) she made notes regarding what she wanted her team to do from day to day, mainly research on what Pepper had called the short-term assignments, the political and social thoughts of the various countries of the world on the Avengers and whether they would accept assistance or not. “FRIDAY?” She asked once she was done with that.

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“What were the date parameters of the Latveria search that Tony ran?”

“Mr. Stark ordered a search for news stories regarding Doctor Doom and the political situation in Latveria between six months ago and two days ago, Miss Lewis.”

“Okay, new search, please. Same parameters except go back one full year, and update with any new stories that have shown up in the last two days,” Darcy ordered. “And keep it updated with new stories until further instructions.”

“Yes, Miss Lewis. That will take a few minutes, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Lewis.”

By the end of the week, she had the zero draft of her report, she had reviewed a dozen resumes for the team that had been sent on to her by Pepper, and she had a rough idea of how the countries in the EU and some of the Eastern European countries viewed the Avengers. She felt it was a good start. There were a few sticky points that she wanted to work out, but overall, it was a good start.

 

She spent the weekend combing through thrift shops and secondhand stores, looking for businesswear that number one, would fit, number two, wasn’t all black or gray, and number three, was good enough quality that if it didn’t fit, but could be tailored, she would be willing to make the investment. She could do some things, taking hems up or down, for example, but she preferred to let professionals deal with the jackets, for example. 

Monday morning, she was in her office at eight-thirty, sipping coffee and looking over her notes regarding the actual national status of Atlantis. Was it a country? It wasn’t recognized by the UN, or by more than two or three other countries, one of which was Latveria, which was amusing as Latveria was a landlocked postage stamp, actually, in the middle of Eastern Europe. But Greece, Italy, and Greenland all three recognized it as a sovereign nation, and King Namor had given several interviews…she should really look into that. If the Avengers had to deal with something rising from the sea, which they had already done on several occasions, they should really have at least a working relationship with Atlantis. But how? They didn’t exactly have an embassy, it was common knowledge that most Atlanteans would die if exposed to air too long. She’d have to think about that.

“Miss Lewis, Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers have just gotten off on your floor, they seem agitated,” FRIDAY warned her. 

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Unlock the door for them, would you?”

“Certainly.”

A few seconds later, Tony and Steve came into her office, both in mufti, which gave her the chance to appreciate Steve in jeans, thank you Dr. Erskine. “Really sorry about this, Darce,” Steve began as Tony pushed past him on the way to the coffee machine. He looked as if he had just rolled out of bed, possibly head first. That was definitely yesterday’s AC/DC tee he was wearing, and --

“Tony, are you still in your pajama pants?” Darcy asked.

“Maybe. At least I’m wearing pants, be grateful,” he said, picking up one of her novelty coffee cups. “You’ve got Rebel and First Order and Imperial coffee cups?”

“May the Force be with you,” she said, and he snorted.

“And also with you, Artoo.”

“Does that make you Threepio? Because you’re the snarkiest bastard in the building.”

“HA! No.” He poured himself some coffee, choosing, she noted, the “I run so I can keep up with the Doctor” cup. “Steve?” That got her attention. Tony was using Steve’s name. Not Cap, not Capsicle, not Captain Tightpants. Steve. Tony was being serious, or at least trying to. He turned her office chair around, sitting on it backwards, while Steve hovered near the doorway.

“Okay. Steve, close the door, get some coffee if you want, then sit down. Tony. Seriously. What’s going on?”

“About twenty minutes ago, I got a phone call,” Tony began as Steve, bless him, followed orders. “From the Latverian Embassy.” Both of Darcy’s eyebrows went up. “Doom is coming here, to New York, tomorrow. His bees are working overtime, because he wants to set up a meeting with the UN and ask, formally, for UN assistance in…” Tony looked at his coffee, took another sip, shook his head. “He wants to reset his government, I guess. Change Latveria from, let’s face it, a dictatorship ruled by a literal iron fist, to a constitutional monarchy.”

“Are you serious?” Darcy said when she could find her voice. “That’s…that’s nothing short of amazing.”

“Yep. That’s what the guy on the other end of the line said. I was informed because he wants to ensure that the Avengers know he’s coming on a diplomatic mission.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I haven’t had time to do more than a zero draft of my report, but I can email it to you, no problem.”

“And you’ve got time to finish it, Darcy, I’m not trying to rush you, but I -- we,” Tony corrected himself, looking guiltily at Steve, “want your general impressions and conclusions.” Darcy took a deep breath, blew it out.

“Okay. General impressions and conclusions? He’s been working on this for at least the last year,” she began. “Slow outreaches to surrounding nations, specifically Symkaria and Chernaya. Definite rebuffs toward Putin’s minions; there was a minor diplomatic dustup last year when he and a couple of his robots personally dropped off four Russian agents on the front steps of the Kremlin. It was…interesting, at least for a few days, over there, but thankfully, nobody got stupid.” She paused to sip her coffee, then continued. “He’s allowing at least some of his subjects to visit Chernaya and Symkaria now, and he’s put down two attempted coups by a couple of his colonels, both of whom would have probably wanted to keep the police state.”

“That…maybe it’s just me,” Steve said slowly. “But if you wanted to make your country free, why wouldn’t you just do that?”

“Because they wouldn’t know what to do with freedom, Steve,” Darcy explained. “They still don’t. It’s going to take at least a couple of generations before the general populace understands the difference between what they’ve always had, and what they have the chance for. Even a constitutional or parliamentarian monarchy is better than the despot he’s been.” She drummed her fingers on her coffee cup, trying to think of how best to explain. “They’ve lived under a very harsh rule all their lives. They don’t know anything but toe the line, don’t speak badly of Doom, or life in Latveria, or else you disappear. Allowing small groups to go experience what life is like in Symkaria and Chernaya for a week or two at a time lets the people see the difference between the countries. He’s lifted the ban on speaking favorably of other countries, yes, that was an actual law for thirty years, you couldn’t speak well of the United States or Canada or the EU if you were in Latveria. He’s upgraded the common standard of living for most of his people, if you’ll give me a second?” She picked up her tablet, ran a before and after image search on Google, handed it to Steve. “On the left, you’ll see a common Latverian farm in 1990.” A small house that could barely be called better than a hut. Four people, man, woman, two children, standing in front of it with blank expressions. “On the right, you’ll see that same farm last year.” The house behind the family, which now numbered eight, had obviously been expanded, a real metal roof rather than tin sheets on the top, there was a truck and a four door sedan in the background. “He imported, at his own expense, a work truck and a car for every Latverian farming family last summer. Gave it to them. Flip the screen.” Steve did so to look at a line of trucks painted in bright, cheery colors, the people standing in front of them smiling broadly, dark skinned and haired, dressed in Latverian folk costume. “That’s a tribe of Latverian Romani. He’s always been partial to them, his mother was Roma.”

“He’s buying his people things? Why didn’t he do that before?” Steve asked, handing her the tablet, his face blank. “Why didn’t he try to improve their standard of living before?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that in the last year, maybe year and a half, I haven’t finished all the research yet, he’s been making huge strides in improving the standard of living and expanding and opening human and civil rights in his country, and that by itself is amazing. For someone to just…turn themselves around like this? It doesn’t happen. It really doesn’t happen. Not without some form of intervention, not without something happening personally to open their eyes to what they’ve been doing.”

“So he got Jesus?” Tony asked, and Darcy threw her hands in the air, shrugging. 

“I don’t know if it’s Jesus, Odin, or Baba Yaga kicked the fear of her into him, but the results speak for themselves. Victor Von Doom has been making changes in his country and in his rule for the last year. Maybe you guys could go over to Empire State and see if there are any recent Latverian students who are willing to talk to you? I don’t know that they would, but it’s a possibility. All I know for sure is that the news stories currently coming out of Latveria, Symkaria, and Chernaya all point to a massive change in the governmental outlook, and the quality of life.”

“Huh.” Tony sipped his coffee again, leaning back in his chair, his eyes half-closed. “Steve?”

“I mean, I think it’s great,” Steve said slowly. “If he really is sincere about all of this, it’s great. Knowing that maybe in a time of world crisis, we could perhaps ask Doom for backup? Would be a huge advantage, honestly, because he’s almost as smart as you, Tony.”

“Please, tell me more about how clever I am,” Tony smirked, and Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Be serious. But on the other hand, what if --“ 

“IT’S A TRAP,” Darcy and Tony said at the same time, and Tony picked it up. “Yeah. It could be. Or it could be he finally took a page out of his old pal Namor’s book, and decided to build instead of destroy.”

“I know you want to believe, Tony,” Steve sighed. “I know you do. And honestly? I do, too. I’d love to have another ally, especially in Eastern Europe. But I can’t just…say I’m from Missouri, I guess.”

“Look at it this way, Steve,” Darcy interjected. “He’s doing all the right things, and has been for a year. He’s invested tons, literally tons, of money in fixing his infrastructure and his people’s way of life. And now he’s coming to the UN for help. He’s not stupid, not at all. He knows he can’t just say, okay now, let’s vote on who you want to represent you. The UN is going to want to send teams over there, they’re going to want to investigate themselves. Can you open your mind enough to give Doom the benefit of the doubt until the UN finishes their investigation, at least?”

Steve was quiet, looking down at his hands for a long minute before his shoulders rose and fell, and he nodded. “I won’t say I don’t want to be cautious,” he said, looking up at her. “But we can give a man a chance. Everybody deserves at least one chance to change.”

“Great,” Tony said, standing. “Then I’ll call the Embassy and let them know that the Avengers recognize and approve of Lord Protector Von Doom’s visit to the UN, and any unpleasantness will not be started by the Avengers.”

“And give them my office number, would you, Tony?” Darcy interjected. “If I’m your political liaison, they should call me from now on.”

“Fuck. You’re right, Lewis. My bad.” He had the good grace to frown, at least. “You just started the job, hell, we just created it, that’s probably why…”

“No, I’m not mad,” Darcy hastened to reassure him. “You’re right, it’s not as if we’ve made a big deal about the new position or anything yet. We can make an announcement after Doom leaves. We don’t want to upstage his visit, that wouldn’t be prudent.”

“Right. Okay. Get with Pepper on that, she’s got the embassy numbers. Cap, you good?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, rising as well. “Thanks for your time, Darcy.”

“Hey, it’s what I’m here for. My advice, honestly, cautious support and observation is the best way to go in this. If he’s for real, we’ll know it; it’ll take the UN at least a year, maybe two, to get the elections set up. If he’s not, he’ll fuck up and show the autocratic DOOM IS BETTER THAN YOU PEASANTS crap again.” She grinned, bumping fists with Tony. “Villains, real ones, can’t help themselves, they have to feed their massive ass egos.”

“Exactly. Come on, mon Capitan, let’s go get Danish.” The two men left her office, and Darcy shook her head, smiling, as she went back to work.


	4. Chapter 4

“Lord Protector Von Doom?” He looked up from the customs official to see a very…plain…gentleman coming toward him, dressed in a fairly decent, yet nondescript suit and tie. A receding hairline, worry lines around his eyes, he wore a professional smile as a mask. “I’m Director Philip Coulson. I spoke to your --“

“Seneschal,” Doom agreed. “Martin. Yes, I was informed you and your associates were to act as my escort.”

“Security detail, your Grace,” Director Coulson gently corrected. “Not that you need one, of course.”

“No. I don’t,” Victor replied. “But I am…loath to disrespect the hospitality and courtesy of the United States and the United Nations, and so I accept your gracious offer.”

“Thank you, your Grace. Did you bring an entourage?”

“No; I have no need of such things. The Latverian Embassy will see to my needs and desires,” Victor said, signing the last paper with a flourish. “I must wait for my baggage, Director, and then I will be ready to leave.”

“Of course. May I ask if you were wishing to do anything else during the time you’re here? I know your advisor told me you’d be in New York for a week, so…” Director Coulson let his sentence fade.

“I do not know. I had hoped perhaps to have a word with Iron Man, and King Namor is to arrive tomorrow; we may wish to see a show. I have heard very good things about this Hamilton play.”

“Hamilton’s amazing,” Director Coulson said, his smile becoming larger and much more genuine. “Lin-Manuel Miranda is a national treasure.”

“Your President had made some noise of wishing to meet with me, but I really rather would not; I have dealt with Mr. Trump before in business matters, and found him to be boorish and inelegant. I rather doubt that attaining the presidency has changed matters.” 

“President Trump is currently at Mar-A-Lago, your Grace. I’ll inform you if that changes,” the director offered, his mouth closing, lips becoming thin; ah. Victor could read between those lines very well; there was no love lost, but the man would say nothing against his ruler. Good. Several more agents joined them as the Director led the way through a private hallway, two women, one whose very essence radiated danger, much as the Black Widow; the other was younger, but she moved with an efficiency close to the first. Probably her protégé. “Agent May, Agent Johnson,” the director introduced them. “Agent Mackenzie is waiting outside.”

“Excellent. One moment, if you would?” At the director’s nod, Victor gestured to the two diplomats waiting for him. “Have my luggage delivered to the embassy; the Director has come to collect me himself, and I do not wish to insult him.”

“Yes, Lord Protector,” came the expected answer, and a few minutes later, he was in the bulletproof limo with Agent May and Director Coulson. Agent Johnson was in the front passenger seat beside Agent Mckenzie. The ride passed pleasantly for some few minutes before Director Coulson cleared his throat, leaning forward from the rumble seat.

“I don’t mean to presume, Lord Protector, but I wonder if you’d be willing to talk about the incident last week? In the bay?”

“What is it you wish to know?” Victor answered pleasantly; the man was courteous and deferential enough, it was of no matter to speak to him about the occurrence.

“Dr. Richards’ actions,” Director Coulson began. “Iron Man described them as being dangerous. Would you agree with that assessment?”

“Reed is an obnoxious twit,” Victor replied. “We have been at odds for a very long time, and unfortunately, I do not see that set of circumstances ever changing.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your common history,” Coulson nodded. “But Iron Man claims, and the footage bears it out, that he was willing to go through Iron Man to get to you.”

“That is Richards’ problem. Not mine. Not unless he makes it mine,” Victor said, closing his eyes at the sound of the edge to his voice. “Forgive me. We do have a great deal of agitated history between us, and it is easy to slip into old thought patterns and habits when speaking of him or his possible intentions.”

“Of course. I have the same reaction when it comes to certain people,” Coulson said easily. “I simply want to avoid any unpleasantness between you and the FF during your stay if we can at all.”

“I give you my word, Director Coulson. Any unpleasantness that arises will find the blame laid at their feet, not my own. I am…I dare not say a new man. But I am endeavoring to become a better man than I have been, and a large part of that change means that I do not begin physical altercations. I may well finish them,” he added, chuckling, “but I refuse to allow others the satisfaction of knowing that they provoked me into swinging first, as it were.”

“Fair enough,” Coulson agreed, nodding. “Okay.”

 

His heart, the heart he hid as best he could, fell as he saw the protestors outside the Latverian Embassy. Dozens of them, holding signs that protested his reign over his country. L.A.F.F., Latverian-Americans For Freedom. He knew of the group. Most of the time, they held non-violent protests, though his intelligence said that there had been a few altercations with his diplomats and the robots that guarded the embassy over the last few years.

“I hope that after tomorrow, they’ll be celebrating,” Director Coulson said softly as the gates of the embassy opened, the robot guardians keeping the protestors away.

“That is my hope as well, but I dare not count on it,” Victor sighed. “They will instead begin a conspiracy theory that I am doing this only for good publicity, and that I must have some sort of nefarious plot, that I am drawing the wool over the U.N.’s eyes. It is a fair assumption for them to come to.”

“You’ve never gone this far before,” Agent May spoke for the first time. “You’ve never come to the U.N. to ask for aid before in anything, not even after the earthquake several years ago.”

“No,” he agreed; that natural disaster had been horrible, especially in some of the mountain region villages. “No. Latveria takes care of its own.” Weeks of rescue efforts, then years of rebuilding. He had refused all offers of aid, setting the robots to find and rescue those trapped under rubble, had rushed doctors from the hospitals of Doomstadt, including his own personal doctors, to the sites where they were needed. The car stopped, the door opened by one of the robots, the ambassador to the United States, Aleksander, coming to greet him, dropping to one knee deferentially as he got out of the car. “Lord Protector.”

“Aleksander. You may rise,” he nodded graciously. “Have the rooms I ordered prepared for King Namor been so?”

“They have, my Lord.”

“Excellent. The salt-water pool?”

“Is ready for him.”

“Good. Director Coulson, I will expect you and your agents tomorrow morning at nine-thirty; my appointment with the Council is at ten-thirty.”

“Yes, your Grace. See you then.” An acceptable answer, as the car drove on to the circle to turn around he entered the embassy building, going directly to the throne awaiting him and taking his seat.

“Report.”

“The U.N. is curious, of course, and is already gathering the teams necessary for your request, my Lord. We have received several invitations for you from the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies, and a request for an audience from Anthony Stark and Steven Rogers.”

“Iron Man and Captain America,” Victor said thoughtfully. “When did that arrive?”

“Yesterday evening, sire.”

“Inform the Chernayan and Symkarian Embassies that I would be happy to visit and renew my acquaintance with Lady Finitaz and Mr. Daru at their convenience, after tomorrow. Inform them I will ask King Namor to accompany me, but he may or may not do so. Do you have the number for Mr. Stark?”

“I do, sir.”

“Bring me a telephone.”

 

Darcy put her makeup on very, very carefully the next morning, trying to keep her hands from shaking too much as she applied her eyeliner. She was going to the U.N. to observe the meeting between Von Doom and the Elections Committee, along with Tony, Steve, Natasha and Clint, as the political liaison for the Avengers Initiative. Her navy blue suit still fit her like a glove, accentuating her hourglass figure, her wire rimmed glasses adding a hint of sophistication, her eyes looking just a hint bigger than usual thanks to a clever trick with her makeup. 

The Avengers away team, as she was thinking of them this morning, were all in mufti; Tony in a divine cream colored suit with a sky blue tie, probably Italian, Natasha in a suit not unlike hers, though she was sure that ‘Tasha’s had special pockets for hidden weapons. Clint and Steve both wore suit pants and blazers, though they had both skipped the ties. ‘Tasha smiled when she saw Darcy coming, holding up a hand and twirling a finger; dutifully, Darcy slowly turned around. “Lovely. You are lovely and professional this morning,” Natasha began, then looked down at her feet. “And those are good shoes. Expensive enough to respect, cheap enough to leave behind if you have to run.” Darcy looked down at her Sandro Mary Janes with a sad smile.

“Yeah, that was kind of my thought,” she sighed in agreement. “But better to lose the shoes than my head, right?”

“Exactly,” Natasha nodded before turning on the men. “We will meet you all at the car.” Darcy took Natasha’s left arm, and the two women walked on toward the elevator, leaving the men slightly gobsmacked before they caught on and caught up with them.

They entered the building through a private underground garage, riding up in an elevator that smelled slightly of freesia. The floor they got off on could have been in any luxury office building, the carpet a soft muted gray, the walls fairly nondescript, a muted green wallpaper with a darker green zigzag line pattern. The art that was hung here and there were landscapes, for the most part, though they passed by more than one photograph study as well, again, landscapes. The Sahara. The Congo. Madripoor. The Alps. They weren’t the first arrivals in the conference room they were led to; a few diplomats were already seated at the long oak table. They looked up as the group entered, but turned their attention back to the laptops and tablets in front of them when it was obvious they were observers rather than participants. Tony took a seat in one of the chairs lining the inner wall, and the rest followed suit, Darcy at the end farthest from the door and away from the windows at Clint’s insistence.   
While they waited, Darcy took a selfie for her Instagram and Twitter, #U.N. #she blinded me with political science, then switched to her audio recorder app; she wanted to record what was said so she could go over it later. It was only about another five minutes before the room started filling up, other diplomats arriving both as more observers and the committee itself. And then they walked in.

Darcy had never met Namor or Doom, but the moment they entered, the room fell silent. Both men carried themselves with a regal presence, aware of their importance, aware of their stature, they both had a confidence in their body language that could easily be mistaken for cockiness. Doom was, of course, in his armor, but instead of the normal green cloak that he seemed to be so fond of, he wore a deep royal purple tunic and cape over it, the tunic belted at the waist, his metal boots and gloves trimmed in ermine. A heavy looking, thick linked golden chain hung around his neck, a medallion falling from it square in the midst of his chest; the crown jewel of Latveria, his chain of office.

Namor, on the other hand, was sin on two legs. His black hair was slicked back, and he smirked as he looked around the room, wearing a dark gray suit, Hugo Boss, if she wasn’t mistaken, though his feet were bare, as was his custom due to the wings that sprouted from his ankles. He took a chair just to Von Doom’s left, and Darcy noticed as he passed behind Doom that one hand rose, just a bit -- was he actually patting Doom on the back? Giving the man reassurance? Interesting. “Namor his friend? Patted his back maybe prior 2 conf. Consider later,” she scribbled on her notepad.

“I wish to thank the council for granting me an audience on such short notice,” Doom began, still standing at the head of the table, his voice rumbling and deep, and oh God maybe Namor was sex on LEGS, but Doom’s VOICE was sex for her ears. “I understand that this was very much an inconvenience, and I wish you to know that I personally, and the Latverian people, appreciate your time.” He took a seat beside Namor, and the committee began questioning him directly. What did he want to see happen? How long a time frame did he project from beginning to end? Would he allow investigational and educational teams into Latveria? Those questions and more in the same vein went on for about an hour, Doom answering them all patiently, sometimes taking a few seconds to consider his words before he responded, but never once becoming short or irritable so far as Darcy could tell. 

When the meeting was officially over, some members of the committee lingered for a few minutes, speaking to Doom or Namor quietly before leaving the room with the other observers. Darcy gathered her things, but Clint brushed against her arm, flattened his palm and pushed out; wait, that motion meant, so she didn’t get up. Finally, the only people left in the room were Doom, Namor, and the Avengers group. Tony got up first, extending his hand. “Ruler Protector Von Doom.”

“Mr. Stark.” The two shook hands, and then Tony shook with Namor as well before Doom spoke again. “I was very glad to see you and your colleagues here. But I do not think I recognize the young lady beside Mr. Barton? Have the Avengers grown again?” Darcy’s mouth grew dry as Tony turned, jerking his head. Slowly, she rose and went to stand beside him, barely remembering to drop a discreet curtsy before the two kings; well, Doom was practically a king, wasn’t he?

“Our political analyst, Darcy Lewis,” Tony introduced her. “She’s a firecracker.”

“Indeed,” Namor murmured, his sea green eyes deep, but just a little cold, if she didn’t miss her guess. Aww, sexy, no. “You have a way of surrounding yourself with beautiful women, Anthony.”

“It’s a gift,” Tony smirked.

“An honor to meet you both, your Majesty, your Grace,” Darcy managed to say as Namor took the hand she extended, raising it gently as if to kiss the back, though he never actually did so. “I’m so glad to have the opportunity.” She offered her hand to Doom next; he didn’t affect the same flirtatiously courtly manner as Namor, however, only shaking firmly. He had brown eyes behind the mask, she noted, and they looked very tired.

“A pleasure, Miss Lewis.”

“So,” Tony clapped his hands and rubbed them together, “did you both get the invitations?”

“We did,” Namor replied, inclining his head. “I do not speak for Victor, but I for one would be happy to attend your soiree, Anthony. You always throw the best parties.”

“Awesome, show up anytime between eight and ten. How about you, Doom?”

“I…appreciate the invitation, though I must reluctantly decline; let us be frank, Mr. Stark, my presence might cause your other guests some discomfort.” Doom’s mask tilted downward just a fraction as he spoke, and Darcy could read between those lines. She could read between those lines all too well. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, and rightfully so; he had done horrible things. More, he knew he had done horrible things. And, she realized, he was ashamed.

“Lord Protector, perhaps just a token appearance?” She heard herself say before she thought. “At least amongst the main party. Tony’s penthouse is huge, surely we could find a quiet space for you to people watch, at least. And I would love to hear more about the changes you’re planning in Latveria.” His mask shot towards her, those tired brown eyes flaring, seeking, searching through her long enough that her lips parted, intending to apologize for the intrusion.

“Perhaps, Miss Lewis. I will at least consider it. And I do indeed appreciate the invitation, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony, Mr. Stark was my dad,” Tony said, a little flippantly. “You’ve got my number; if you plan on flying, call first so I can have the security measures turned off on the jetpad. See you tomorrow night.” He flipped his glasses back down, giving both men a grin, before taking Darcy’s arm and heading for the door, the rest of the group following them out of the conference room and toward the elevator. “Good job, Sparky,” he said lowly. “Did you see what I saw?”

“I think so,” Darcy breathed. “He’s tired, Tony. And he’s lonely.”

“Everybody’s lonely, honey. In their heart of hearts.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but…but you’ve got Pepper now, and you’ve got us,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see how close the others were. Still about five feet back. “And you’re loved, Tony. You really are.” She couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, but his lips and nose twitched, just a little, and his grip on her arm tightened.

“Thanks, Artoo.”

“No problem, Threepio.”

“Dammit, I’m Han,” Tony sighed as the others caught up. “Or maybe Lando.”

“You are so wrong about that. You’re a suave-ass con, all right, but you can’t pull off a cape.” Clint snickered, Natasha smirked, as they all boarded the elevator.


	5. Chapter 5

“Well that was exciting,” Namor drawled once they were back in the Latverian Embassy. “It reminds me once more why I do not care to join the United Nations; all the bureaucracy.” He shuddered in mock terror. “I do despise paperwork so.”

“You had no need to use the United Nations as a bulwark while you proved your intentions,” Victor replied, pouring himself a glass of Glenfiddich. “I must.”

“I do not know why,” Namor said flippantly. “The New Soviet cannot stand a chance against your powers, as you have proven before.”

“But there is much more than just the New Soviet to worry about,” Victor sighed, coming to sit down across from Namor. He had shed his cloak, the jewel of state, the ermine trimmings, and Namor had removed his suit jacket and tie, rolled up his shirt sleeves and opened his collar. “And while I can protect my country against most incursions, I cannot protect them from rebellion from within, stirred up by propagandists and foreign agents. I know there are more than just the few that I expelled. Like cockroaches, for every one you see, there are dozens you do not.”

“I see,” Namor mused, sitting up a bit straighter. “And you believe the United Nations can help you in what way?”

“I believe that given the proper education, given the right information, the people will not care to throw off my gauntlet for one which they do not know,” Doom began. “They may not, they do not, care for me; I am well aware of that fact. But once informed, and once the changes are seen to be permanent, they will not wish to feel Putin’s boot upon their backs, either.”

“An interesting point of view,” Namor allowed. “And if they do?”

“If they do…” Victor looked down into his glass, musing. “If they do, then I will be without a country, I suppose.”

“You are always welcome in Atlantis, though I know how that would grate upon your pride,” Namor offered.

“I appreciate the offer of your gracious hospitality, and I hope you will understand when I say that I hope not to take you up on it,” Victor replied, throwing back the rest of his drink. “I would hate to impose so upon you.”

“Mmm. And speaking of hospitality, what was that business with refusing Tony’s invitation? It’s sure to be a grand party.” Namor spoke flippantly, though his half-open eyes were trained upon Victor. 

“I may go. I may not. I will not know until I do, or don’t.”

“You’ll forgive my blunt speech, but I think you should,” Namor offered. “Part of your issues, Victor, stem from locking yourself away from society. No one says you have to stay long, but come for an hour, at least. Speak with that delicious little woman, what was her name? About politics. As a…liaison? Analyst? Whatever. She may have insight you could use.”

“I might.” He didn’t correct Namor’s casual, almost certainly deceptive, dismissal of Ms. Lewis’ name. That would only tell Namor that he had taken notice of her, or more so than truly he should. She did have the loveliest skin and eyes, however, and he had known beauties throughout time and space. “As I said, I will not know until I go, or don’t.”

“You should go,” Namor pressed. “To have Tony believe you, believe in you, Victor, would be no small thing. To have the Avengers giving you the benefit of the doubt might well come in handy, should matters turn ugly with Reed again.”

“Reed never changes,” Doom sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“So true. So very, very true,” Namor said, nodding imperiously. “Have you seen him, other than last week?”

“No. The farther I stay away from Reed Richards, the better life is for both of us. And that is another reason I may not go to the party tomorrow evening; I fully expect Stark to invite him, if only to cause drama.” Victor rose from the settee to pour himself another drink. “Do you need a refill?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Namor agreed. “A very nice Sauvignon Blanc.”

“Thank you. It’s the first bottling of Doomstadt Vineyards.” He brought the bottle back with him, filling Namor’s glass again. The label showed a metallic glove cradling a bunch of grapes, and Namor suppressed a chuckle with difficulty. Victor saw his smirk, however, and shrugged. “The marketing people.”

“It will certainly stand out on the shelf,” Namor agreed before taking a sip. “And it’s very good. I was unaware Latveria could produce such superb grapes.”

“A bit of horticulture,” Doom waved away the compliment. “Expanding our interests, our possible trade materiel. The west facing terraces on the mountains needed a change, the farmers needed a change.”

“Indeed. Well. You said something about not going to the party because Reed might be there to cause drama. Don’t tell me you’re afraid --“

“I am not, and never have been, afraid of Reed Richards,” Doom hissed, interrupting Namor. “I despise him utterly, I loathe the very mention of the man, but I am not afraid of him.”

“Then tell me why you would go out of your way to avoid him,” Namor challenged, his eyes narrowing to sea-jade slits. “If you are not afraid.”

“To avoid unpleasantness at a host’s home, perhaps? Courtesy is something I treasure, Namor, as you know well. More, I am going to great lengths to…to be different, to make wiser choices. I am not afraid of Reed in this instance, but I am fully aware of how  
I tend to behave when in close proximity with him. Avoiding him is best for both of us.”

“And there is wisdom,” Namor remarked, downing his wine. “Hard won and fought, but wisdom. Do come to the party, Victor. Should Reed make an appearance, I will keep his attention.” He smirked, winking. “It’s not as if it’s hard, after all; all I have to do is say hello to Susan, and he’ll be breathing down my neck all night.”

“How true. Very well; I will make at least the token appearance Ms. Lewis suggested,” Victor sighed. 

“Excellent!” Namor declared, raising his glass. “It will be grand!”

“I certainly hope so.” Victor gently touched his glass to Namor’s. “I do.”

 

“You cannot be serious.” Victor gazed at Namor the next evening, shaking his head. He had reverted back to his favorite forest green cloak, its fibers inundated with the dust of Ha’nuew, the Gem of Diasa, to render it impenetrable by anything less than a deity’s or demon’s weapon, over his armor. But Namor stood tall and proud in his sea green trunks, the scale pattern glimmering as if wet, the gold waistband bringing attention to his pale, but very pronounced, abdominal musculature.

“You may not desire the company of mortal women, Victor, but I do,” Namor replied with a smirk. “And I know how surface women seem to regard me, especially since the release of the Tolkien movies a few years ago. Apparently I am not the only one to wonder whether the Elves who sailed into the West might not have founded Atlantis.” He winked, then lifted slightly from the garden path, hovering a few inches above the ground. “Come along! You detain King Namor from his chosen sport!” He laughed as he spoke, and Victor shook his head, looking down at the ground for a split second before springing into the air beside him, his own amused smile hidden as always behind his mask.

They approached Avengers Tower, preparing to descend, when Namor pointed. “Look,” he called to Victor over the wind. “Tony must have changed his mind about what kind of party he’s having.” The blue waters of a pool were illuminated, a crowd of people around it; Doom could see the Scarlet Witch, Captain America, even the Black Widow, all in bathing suits that left very little to the imagination.

“Wings! Chrome dome!” Tony Stark shouted, waving as they descended. “Well, looks like somebody didn’t get the memo about the luau.” He leaned on a Greek Revival pillar, sipping something from a coconut half. “Damn. It’s all good though, we’ve got spare trunks, don’t we, Pep?”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline,” Victor began before Namor snorted, taking a drink from a passing servant with a tray.

“What tripe,” Namor said. “Accept the loan of some trunks and move on, Victor.”

“I’m sure we can find you something,” Pepper Potts said from her seat beside Tony, beginning to rise.

“No, please,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no need to go to any trouble, Miss Potts, Mr. Stark; I have no inclinations to get in the pool.“

“You’ll get wet anyway,” he heard a woman say from behind him, and turned to see Miss Lewis standing in the doorway. He was very, very glad to be wearing his mask for once; no one could see his jaw drop. The suit she’d worn the day before had not hidden her curves, but the blue tankini she wore hinted at an exquisite figure indeed. A matching sarong wrapped around her waist, hiding her legs from view, and he heard Namor’s breath catch beside him as she went on speaking. “Clint and Sam are having water gun fights, and while they’re usually pretty careful about collateral damage, they’ll both tell you that no plan survives --“

“First contact with the enemy,” he finished Van Moltke’s famous edict. “It is of no matter, it will not hurt the armor to be sprayed with a water gun by accident.”

“Okay, you’ve been warned,” the young lady smiled up at him as someone grasped his shoulder.

“So let me show you two around,” Stark prattled. “Artoo, you with us or are you gonna keep Leia company?”

“I’ll hang out with General Organa for a while, Threepio, the Princess is in Australia, remember?” Miss Lewis said passing by the three of them with a grand, broad smile. 

“So here’s the deal,” Stark began as they walked into the penthouse, a pair of hot tubs to one side of the room, a door that likely led to a sauna on the other. They passed by both, entering a set of double doors that opened into what seemed to be an informal dining area, its tables covered in platters of finger foods. “All the common rooms are open, the kitchen’s to the left, straight ahead is the TV room, the bar and billiards are off of that to the right. There’s six bathrooms on this floor, you’re smart guys, you can find them. Don’t pee in my pool, that pisses me off. I’m expecting maybe three, maybe four more guests, no not those four, I like my house and I don’t like Richards, he’s a dick. Don’t try to leave the common area unless you’re specifically invited to go to another level with an Avenger or an Avengers team member, that’s unlikely but it could happen. Help yourself to nibbles, there’s all sorts of stuff over there, and more in the kitchen. It’s an open bar, but go easy on the Laphroaig, would you, that shit’s getting hard to find. Other than that, mi casa es su casa, gents.” He stopped, looking at both of them, leaning against the wall. “This is sort of a private party. Avengers, Avenger allies like War Machine and She-Hulk, folks whose names are known in the real world. “  
James Rhodes and Jennifer Walters. Of course they would be invited. For a brief moment, Victor was troubled; the last time he had seen She-Hulk, they had been on opposite sides of a conflict. Once again, he was grateful to have the barrier of the mask between himself and the world, to hide his doubt and unease. “They know you were invited,” Stark went on. “They’ve promised to behave if you guys do.”

“I would not break the inherent laws of hospitality, the oath of a guest to his host,” Namor said, and Victor nodded.

“Great. Then have a good time, and Doom, seriously, if you change your mind, just let me or Pep know, huh? I’m sure we can find something.” Stark pushed himself off the wall, snatching two leis from the table. “Welcome to my luau. For tonight, you’re ohana.” He draped one lei, bright yellow, over Namor’s head, then the blue one over Victor’s; it caught for a moment on the fabric of Victor’s cloak, but fell eventually onto his chest, before Stark clapped them both on the shoulders and headed back toward the pool, leaving Namor and Victor alone for the moment.

“Well,” Namor said after a second, “that was unexpected.”

“Indeed.” The scent of the flowers in the lei was intoxicating, wending its way beyond the mask. Music began to play from the pool area.

“Well. I am rejoining the party, I believe,” Namor said after a second. 

“I…” Victor began, then stopped; he wanted, truly, to find a quiet corner somewhere, somewhere dark to hide; seeing Stark and Captain America in their swimming gear had made him envious, if he were honest, and he did not wish to be compared to them. Yet had he not come in order to change their thoughts about him? And how could he do so if he were hiding, brooding on his own inadequacies? “I will join you,” he managed to say, “if only for a bit.”

“Excellent. You should take advantage of the offer of gear, Victor; I have seen what the armor hides, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is not as finely honed as mine, of course,” Victor huffed at Namor’s ever present arrogance, “but for a fully human male, you are not displeasing, aesthetically.”

“I would look a fool,” Victor replied. “To wear swimming costume and the mask before bare acquaintances? It would look odd indeed. No. Not tonight.”

“As you will,” Namor smirked as he went on. “But I am going to reacquaint myself with the She-Hulk, if she arrives. She is exquisite.”

 

Darcy watched as Doom and Namor reemerged from the double doors that led inside the Avengers’ common floor. Doom’s body language screamed nervousness, and Namor stayed close to his friend, maybe to help reassure him? She didn’t know. She knew that she had spent far too much time yesterday and the night before thinking about him, wondering if he would show up tonight.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Natasha said, pulling herself up onto the edge of the pool, then looking in the direction of her gaze. “Oh. Well. I’d be thinking that too, if I were you. Namor is…very interesting.”

“I guess.” Darcy turned her head to smile at ‘Tash. “Not the one I was looking at, though.” Oh, oh, oh, this was great. Natasha’s head jerked back, eyes wide in genuine surprise. “What? I’ve got a thing for broody.” Natasha blinked once, twice, then her lips pressed together, hard. She glanced at Doom, then back to Darcy.

“Are you sure that is a challenge you wish to take on, kotyok?” She asked quietly. “I do not wish to see you hurt, and I am afraid that he is not healthy enough to give back what you would want.”

“I think he needs a friend,” Darcy said, looking down at her feet in the water. “I don’t think he’s stable enough to go any further.”

“Hmmm.” Natasha hummed, patting Darcy’s hand. “I think you are right.”

“I know I’m right,” Darcy sighed. “My head knows I’m right.”

“And what does your gut say?” Natasha pressed after Darcy went quiet.

“My gut says otherwise. But my gut is wrong.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed again, reaching down to splash some water in Steve’s direction as he began to swim towards them, shaking her head. Steve took the hint, powerful strokes taking him toward Vision, instead, down the pool beside Wanda. “Let’s go talk to them.”

“Huh?” Darcy said as Natasha stood, offering her a hand up.

“Let’s go talk to them,” Natasha repeated herself. “No one except Tony has approached them since they arrived; let’s make them feel welcome.”

 

“Hey guys,” Darcy called as they approached the pair. “Did Tony give you the grand tour?”

“He showed us where the food was, and said we were welcome to this floor,” Namor replied; he was shifting slightly from foot to foot, watching the others swimming. “He said something about other guests arriving.”

“Jenn and Rhodey, certainly,” Natasha took up the conversation. “Maybe Jan and Hank, but they’re only a maybe. Prince Namor, Lord Doom. It’s been a while.” She had shifted her voice and her speech patterns, Darcy noted, to be more welcoming; there was a tiny hint of flirtatiousness now as she looked up at Namor.

“Please,” Namor waved his long fingers at her elegantly. “It’s a party. Just Namor for tonight.”

“I’ll try to remember,” Natasha said, maybe a tiny bit coyly. “And Natasha.”

“Who could ever forget your name?” Namor replied, smiling, and Darcy couldn’t help the eyeroll, she really couldn’t.

“Could I have a word, Lord Doom?” She asked, glancing toward the doors, and he nodded, following her inside. “Um. This is going to sound horrible, I know it is, but…if you’re hungry? I know where you could eat and not be disturbed? If you want? Because that mouth slit can’t be big enough to have a burger.” She could see his eyes widen, then he inclined his head.

“I had thought to wait until returning to the Embassy,” he said, “but the scent is rather tantalizing. Are you sure, Ms. Lewis?”

“Call me Darcy,” she said, nodding. “And yeah. The billiard room. It’s off of the bar, but it’s got actual doors you can close, and I’ll watch out for you if you want.”

“You are too kind, Darcy. Thank you.” She texted Sam and Clint as he made himself a plate.

“TO: Huey, Louie  
Billiard room is completely off limits. No vents, no tricks, don’t fuck with me or else I will glitter your underwear. -- Shocker”

The reply from Clint came instantly. “Namor?”

“Doom. Eating. Private.”

“Confirmed. Billiard room is completely off limits until your say-so, Shocky.”

Sam sent her back a thumbs-up, and the rest of the team that was on-planet were poolside. She could handle them. Of course, she could just tell FRIDAY to lock the billiard room doors and deny access to anyone until Doom came out…but this was more personal, a way to build trust. When he was ready, she led him through the common TV room and the bar to the billiard room, gleaming with walnut, mahogany, and teak furniture, polished to a high sheen. “Just here,” she waved. “I’ll shut the doors and wait out here.”

“Thank you, Miss --“ he corrected himself as she frowned. “Darcy.”

“You’re welcome.” She waited until he had stopped beside one of the small round tables to the side of the room, then closed the sliding wooden doors, taking a seat at the bar and texting Pepper. 

“TO: Hot Stuff  
Doom’s having a bite to eat in the billiard room. I’m in here, gonna watch the door.”

Pepper’s reply was a smiley face, then a message. “Do you want me to let the others know?”

“Just if they ask. I already threatened Clint and Sam.”

“Okay. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Nope, I’m good, got wine cooler, will hang a while.”

“Is he being nice?”

“Perfect gent,” Darcy sent back with a thumbs up.

 

Victor was surprised, to say the least, when he opened the door again after his repast to find her waiting at the bar. “Everything okay?” She asked, looking up from her phone. “Need anything?”

“Whoever cooked should be commended,” he said, watching as she hopped down from her bar stool. She had waited, guarding the door, just as she had said she would. “Everything was delicious.”

“Yeah? Awesome.” She smelled of flowers and salt, and he was desperately glad the armor hid his reaction to her proximity and her scent. “Jenn arrived while you were eating, and Rhodey’s on his way.”

“I…will be glad to see both of them again,” he said slowly. “They are interesting people.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are,” she agreed. “Something’s wrong, though?”

“The last time I saw Jennifer Walters, we were…at odds.”

“Oh. Oh, you mean you were trying to kill each other,” she nodded. “I…don’t know what to say here, to be honest. I can tell you she’ll be civil if you are? Because Tony asked her to be? But other than that, you know, I can’t make promises.”

“I simply do not wish to be a bad guest,” he said. “To cause conflict --“

“Hey, it’s okay. Tony wouldn’t have asked you here if he didn’t want you here. He’s picky about who he lets into his space these days.” She shifted, and he thought she was going to reach toward him, but then shifted back to standing straight. “So do you want to go back poolside, or just hang out in here?”

“You said you had questions,” he began. “But I would not want to keep you from the party.”

“So…let’s go mingle for a few, you can say hi to Jim and Jenn, and then we can come back in and chat?” She offered. “Compromise?”

“Delightful.” He offered her his arm, as a gentleman, and she slid her hand in the crook of his elbow willingly. “And if I may offer a compliment, you are radiant this evening, Miss -- Darcy.”

“Why thank you, Lord Protector, and if I may offer an opinion, I think the green looks better than the purple with the armor. I don’t know why, it just does,” she replied.

“Green and gray are the national colors of Latveria, to represent the beauty of the forest and the strength of the mountains. Royal purple has its uses, but I do not care for it as well as I do my own colors. And…and if you like, you may use my name, as you have offered me that privilege.”

“Thank you. I know that’s not a privilege you hand out lightly,” she said softly as they stepped outside again. The night was lovely, warm but not oppressive. The sun had gone completely down now, the terrace lit by tiny colored lights strung on poles around the area. Namor was in the pool with Miss Walters, James Rhodes was talking to Tony, there was a beautiful, kind young woman on his arm. Everything was perfect, so perfect.

Therefore he really should have expected the explosion.


	6. Chapter 6

Her throat was raw for the next two days from the strength of her scream.  
Later, all Darcy would remember was her vision suddenly being covered by green, Doom whirling his cloak over her and turning, placing his body between hers and the blast. Thankfully, he didn’t throw her to the concrete floor and dive on top of her or anything like that; he probably ran about two twenty to two fifty, it would have hurt like hell. Instead, though, strong arms encased in faintly glowing metal wrapped around her, holding her up as the floor shook. “No, you are safe, I will not allow any harm to come to you,” he rumbled in her ear, and for just a second, half a second, she allowed herself to be comforted.

“But the others,” she protested, “they were sitting --“

“We will see what has happened to the Avengers in a moment, and you may call for assistance from whoever might be able to help. For now, we must wait; there are still missiles being fired.”

“Who,” she choked out, “whoever did this, whoever did this, they have opened up such a goddamn can of whoopass…” 

“What an interesting idiom. And yes. They have. They have attacked a home where the King of Atlantis and the Lord Protector of Latveria were being treated as honored guests. They will know the wrath and the fury of the Sub-Mariner, and of Doom.” The noise was dying down. “I will release you in a moment; find cover. Three, two, one, go.” His arms uncrossed from around her, the green falling away, and she could see the door to the common room. 

“Be careful,” she said, then ran forward, jerking the door open and heading through the kitchen into the TV room. “FRIDAY, status report?”

“No known casualties at this time. Mark 16 and RESCUE were initiated when Sir saw the incoming bogeys. All of the other Avengers dove into the pool as the first missile was fired.”

“Okay,” Darcy breathed. “Okay. Where’s Steve’s shield, Friday?”

“Captain Rogers’ shield is in his quarters.”

“Emergency override his lock. SHOCKER-Alpha-3-9-6SW,” she said, running for the elevator. “Who else needs their weapons?”

“Falcon does not have his wings, and Hawkeye does not have his bow.”

“Damn it,” she sighed. “Do they have other weapons up there that they can use?”

“Currently, both are firing Glocks.”

“They need more than that,” Darcy muttered as the elevator door opened on the residential floor, and she ran down the hall to Steve’s quarters. Opening the door, she saw the shield beside his couch. Grabbing it, she headed out again. “How heavy are Falcon’s wings, FRIDAY?” Because the shield by itself was heavy enough she was having to use both hands. “More strength training, Darce,” she muttered to herself.

“Hey Darce,” Sam’s voice sounded over the intercom system. “Don’t worry about my wings, sugar, we’ve already got enough flyers out here to make things really interesting, especially since I’ve never worked with Doom or Namor.”

“You sure, Sam?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Does Clint want his bow and quiver?”

“Negative.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m bringing Steve the shield, though.”

“He’ll appreciate that; he’s pissed ‘cause he’s having to hide at the moment.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

She was upstairs again, and now she was pissed. Oh, she was pissed. She stopped at the door to peek out from around it, and her breath caught. War Machine and Iron Man were blasting the hell out of what appeared to be a red suit of armor, while Namor and Doom were busy kicking in the faceplate of another. A third was being kept busy by Clint, Natasha, and Sam, while Steve stood helplessly fretting nearby, She-Hulk holding him back. “Hey Rogers,” she shouted, stepping into view. “Catch!” She threw the shield with both hands like a discus in his general direction.

“Lewis, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve called, leaping to catch the wobbling airborne disk. He rolled as he came down again, jumping up and launching the shield at the armor that Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Falcon were firing at. It hit the chest mounted machine gun, bending it sideways, ricocheted into the side of the building, then back to Steve’s hand.

She-Hulk leapt from the building toward that armored attacker a split second afterward, making the jump, but barely. She held onto the assailant, however, and started pulling pieces off of the armor, digging her strong green fingers into the suit, its defense systems all but useless against her. Sure, she could be shocked. Sure, it hurt. But nothing like it would do to an unenhanced person. Darcy watched, her mouth open, as she tore the faceplate away from the helmet, exposing a woman who couldn’t be much older than Darcy. A single punch from She-Hulk was all it took to knock the pilot out.

What she hadn’t taken into account was that an unconscious pilot meant that the suit was going down, her scream echoing between the buildings as she and her foe plummeted toward the earth. Namor left Doom to deal with their opponent, diving through the night sky as easily as he cut through water, and Darcy crossed her fingers. “Please,” she murmured. “Please, please…”

A flurry of laser shots drew her attention back to the battle in the sky. Doom’s opponent was giving it all he had, obviously, but Doom only hovered there, letting his unseen foe fire at him at point blank range. Until he had had enough, that is. “You have made a grave error,” he proclaimed, reaching out his hand a lot like Darth Vader’s force-choke. The suit began to crumple, Darcy could hear it, the metal squashing and screeching as it folded in on itself. “You have angered Doom.”

“Holy shit.” Darcy glanced to the side to see Clint watching beside her. “Why the hell didn’t he do that before?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy replied. “Maybe you can ask him in a minute.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Think I will.” He looked down at his Stitch patterned swimming trunks. “Fuckers got a hole in my new trunks, too.”

“Aww. I’ll patch it for you this weekend,” Darcy offered.

“You’re a treat, Darce.”

“Did Namor catch --“ she began, and Clint nodded.

“Yep. Looked to me like he was controlling the fall rather than trying to drag them back up, though. I gotta go downstairs and help collect them.” His shoulders sagged. “You did good getting Steve his shield. That helped.” He sighed, standing straight again as Black Widow came to stand next to them.

“Barton. Let’s go.” 

“Wait,” Darcy said, quickly untying her sarong and handing it to Widow. “Here.” For a second, ‘Tasha blinked out of Widow’s face, then faded away again as she nodded, wrapping the sarong around herself quickly into a full sleeveless dress before jerking her head to the door where Pepper stood, her gaze fully on the battle still raging between Iron Man, War Machine, and the last armored asshole. Doom was slowly lowering the one he had subued to the now wrecked pool as the last red armored adversary dodged a blast from Iron Man and knocked into him, hard. The heap of scrap metal, for that’s what it was now, dropped the last twenty feet in free fall as Doom surged forward from the impact, then turned around, purple sparks flying off of him.

“Coward!” He thundered, and Darcy couldn’t see what he did next, but the enemy armor suddenly thrashed about in the sky, its limbs flailing wildly and likely painfully, as Iron Man and War Machine backed away in the air.

“Holy SHIT!” 

“Fuck my life, son, you shoulda done that earlier,” War Machine said.

“I could not; you and Iron Man were in too close quarters, and this would likely have affected your armors as well.” The armor stopped moving as quickly as it had begun, holding deathly still for a moment before it moved smoothly toward the building, ending up beside the mangled metal that had been its associate. “Crimson Dynamos, are they not, Iron Man?”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like,” Tony agreed, coming to a landing and flicking the suit off a few seconds later. “Uh. This one…is this one dead, Doom?”

“No.” He landed beside Tony, a few seconds before War Machine. “The pilot is alive. Perhaps a bit worse for wear. But alive.” He stepped out of the way as Pepper ran to Tony, hugging him tightly, and Darcy could, would swear later that for a fraction of a second, just a fraction, she saw Doom’s perfect posture stiffen before he stalked back to the edge of the terrace, his back to them all.

“Fuck,” Darcy muttered, turning on her heel and running for the bar. “FRIDAY, where does Tony keep the really, really good stuff?”

“Wine, champagne, or whiskey, Miss Lewis?”

“Any of it. All of it,” Darcy snapped, her eyes sliding over labels. “The good shit, FRIDAY, the Thank You For Being A Pal shit.”

“I would suggest the single malt Macallan Single Malt Craigallachie if you are celebrating the triumph.”

“Great. Where’s that?”

“Third shelf from the top, to the left.” Darcy stepped up on the stool, grabbed the bottle and two glasses; hopefully he drank his whiskey neat. “How much is this bottle, FRIDAY?”

“The MSRP is three hundred dollars.”

“Great. Take it out of my pay for the next couple months, would you?” She was already in the kitchen before the AI could reply affirmatively, and out the door, picking her way around the rubble that had been the terrace pool five minutes earlier. She waved at Rhodey and Tony, but never stopped moving until she was a few feet behind Doom.

“Lord Protector?” She called softly. He turned, he had to turn his whole torso to do so, she noticed, and saw her. She held up the bottle and glasses. “To the Victor goes the spoils?”

“Is that my Laphroaig, Lewis?” Tony called from across the hole where the pool had been.

“Nope! It’s something called Macallan…Craigie something, it came recommended,” she shouted back. “And I already arranged to pay you for it, so hush.”

“Nah. On the house,” Tony said. “Doom, take five and have a drink with a pretty girl before SHIELD gets here; you’ll have to give a statement, damn it, I didn’t want --“ Tony was cut off by Pepper’s fingers over his lips.

“What Tony means to say, Lord Doom, is that he deeply appreciates your help tonight,” Pepper said, and Tony sighed.

“Yes. Yes, that is what I want to say, seriously, I just…this isn’t what I wanted, I wanted to just kick back and have a good time and make new friends, goddamn it.” Tony kicked at a piece of loose concrete. “And you BASTARDS had to fucking RUIN it!”

“If it comforts you, Mr. Stark, that is exactly what I had hoped for this evening as well,” Doom said, turning all the way around at last. “And I add my curse to yours.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “Well. Unfortunately, this comes from being my friend.”

“God, you have no idea,” Rhodey sighed. “He’s been a trouble magnet since I’ve known him, building the suit didn’t change anything.” He wrapped one arm around Pepper’s waist, the other around Tony’s. “Come on, you two. Let’s go find our own bottle.”

The bottle was plucked from her fingers a moment later, and she wondered briefly, how did he move so fast and so silently? Oh yeah, hovering, Darcy, he’s a fucking Sith Lord, remember? “This is a very good Scotch,” he said lowly. 

“Yeah, well, you won. Practically single handed,” she shrugged. “And hey, saving the plucky sidekick’s life comes with benefits.”

“Do not speak of yourself so. You are, even on our short acquaintance, much more than the plucky sidekick.” He opened the bottle, poured two fingers’ worth of liquor into both glasses. “Prosit.”

“L’chaim,” she replied, touching her glass to his and sipping, the alcohol peaty, burning its way down her throat. She didn’t cough, but her eyes watered. “Damn,” she said after she caught her breath. “I just remembered why I like Irish better.”

“Oh? Then why did you choose this?”

“One, it’s one of Tony’s best, two, you seem like a Scotch kind of guy; complicated, with added fire.” 

“That is…a very apt descriptor. You used a Hebraic term for your toast; you’re Jewish?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “Not observant or anything, but yeah.” She sipped her drink again, glancing at the two subdued assholes. “They’re not gonna wake up anytime soon, are they?” He chuckled, and a shiver ran down her spine at the sound.

“Not likely.” It wasn’t quite a growl, but it wasn’t far from it, either. “I overloaded the subdermal receptors in one suit, causing a massive amount of biogenetic feedback. Nothing that can’t be cured with a few weeks’ care. As for the other, well. The Grasping Hand is not known for subtlety. There may be broken bones. I’m afraid I have no sympathy for them; they meant to ambush unarmed people at a party, after all.”

“Yeah, I don’t have any sympathy for them myself at the moment,” Darcy agreed. “So that’s what the Force Choke move is called? The Grasping Hand?”

“Force Choke?” He asked her, gesturing, and a pair of chairs and a table, knocked over to the wall by the missiles, rose, righting themselves. “I’m not sure I know the term.”

“Star Wars? Darth Vader, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker? Kylo Ren, Rey? The Millennium Falcon?” He shook his head as she named off each integral piece of the space opera. 

“I am afraid I do not care for much modern media. I have had other concerns.”

“Oh, um…yeah, okay,” she said, joining him as he walked over to the table and taking a seat. “Star Wars. It’s a movie franchise, very…at its core, it’s the Hero’s Journey, I guess, and the actual first three movies are awesome, the prequels are crap except for Rogue One, and we’re now waiting for the last in the current trilogy.”

“I see. It is a cultural difference, I suppose; movies were never that important to me.” He refilled her glass, and his own. “Books were. Do you know Tolkien?”

“ _Three Rings for the Elven-Kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone, nine for mortal men, doomèd to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne, in the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie_ ,” she quoted, and he nodded.

“ _Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul,_ ” he intoned, purposely, she was sure, deepening his voice as he spoke the Black Tongue of Mordor.

“ _In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie,_ ” she repeated softly. “Yeah. Yeah, me and John Ronald, we go back.”

“Obviously,” he agreed.

“Also, the Black Speech? Really?”

“It amused me, in my youth.”

“So,” she said after a moment. “Are you Theoden awakened, then? Or Boromir, regretful at the Falls?” He didn’t answer her for several long minutes, taking a drink, considering his words.

“I think…” he began slowly. “I think I am more Saruman, but a Saruman who has seen his folly. I have broken the White, and become the Saruman of Many Colors; and now I am trying, perhaps, to regain my humility, and earn back my Staff of Office.”

“Or Bilbo,” she offered. “After giving up the One Ring.”

“No; no. You are very kind, Miss --“ she glared at him, and he changed. “Darcy. But I, like Saruman, have committed too many sins, and Bilbo did not. No. I am Saruman if Saruman had come down at Orthanc, when Theoden and Gandalf and the Ents had cornered him. I have come down, and I know I have a great deal of work to do to redeem myself.”

“Looks like you’re doing a good job of it, from my point of view,” she offered.

“Thank you. There is a veritable Aegean stables to clean, however,” he sighed, “and the expedient way tempts me, always.”

“Change is hard,” she agreed. “Changing as completely as you’ve done, that’s…that’s next to impossible. May I ask, if it’s not too personal, what…did something happen to drive you to it, or…” she let her words trail off. “Sorry, I’m presuming on short acquaintance.”

“You are,” he agreed. “But at least you’re asking.” Slowly, he ran his finger over the rim of his glass, the metal of his glove causing the glass to ring, just slightly. “Good crystal. Stark has taste.”

“Yep.”

“The truth of it is…” he began, sitting back, “the truth of it is, I am tired. I am tired of always being on edge. I am tired of always fighting. I am weary, Darcy. I have seen the future and the past, I have fought battles with gods and monsters, demons and abominations, and while…while I have always…prevailed, at least in survival, I have not always triumphed. I am tired. I wish, at this point, only to lead my people into a new age. An age in which Latveria prospers beside her neighbors, rather than eking out a spare living, hand to mouth. It is time, it is past time, to give up the childish travails and idiocies of my youth, and see to the welfare of my people, rather than myself and my own wounded pride.” 

“Those are good reasons,” she said softly. “I can understand those reasons.”

“Oh, there are more.”

“Of course there are; you’re complicated.” She grinned at him. 

“I’m tired of seeing them quail whenever I walk among them. Of seeing women hide their children behind them, of seeing even my own people, my mother’s people, quake in fear at the mention of my name. Fear is not what I wanted, when I took the throne, I did not want their fear, I wanted to help, I wanted to build, to make things better…and all I have done is make it worse. No more. No more traipsing about time and space, no more fighting with Reed over sins, his and mine, long past. No more proclamations of how great I am, and playing Big Brother from Orwell. I am not great. I am a man who has made a multitude of mistakes. And I cannot, even if I went back in time again, I would not be able to rectify them all. But I can build a better future. I can. But it takes allies. It takes trust. And I have to earn that trust.”

“Doing a hell of a job so far,” Steve’s voice cut through the night, and Darcy looked over her shoulder to see him standing a few feet away. “Sorry to interrupt. Coulson wants to ask a few questions, you know how it is.”

“Of course. If you will excuse me, Darcy?” He asked politely, and she nodded. He rose, taking her hand and bowing over it. “It has been a delight to spend time with you; I hope to do so again before I leave New York.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Victor,” she assured him. “And thank you again. I know you saved my life.”

“I would gladly do so again. Good evening.”

“Good evening.” She watched him walk away with Steve, sighed to herself. Well, the assholes hadn’t completely ruined the evening. Just mostly.


	7. Chapter 7

Thankfully, Captain America said no more of what he might have overheard, or of his spending time with Miss Lewis. Even more thankfully, the questioning was soon over, and he and Namor were released to their own devices once more. 

“What an evening!” Namor declared once they were safely back at the embassy, throwing himself upon the couch in Victor’s rooms, arranging himself gracefully, all long lines and angles. “Delicious food, beautiful women, good wine, and battle. I told you Stark throws the best parties.” Victor barked a short laugh, removing his cloak.

“So you did,” he agreed.

“And do not think that I did not see you slip off with the little human woman. She looks to be a handful; was she?”

“I would not know; she was concerned that I should be able to enjoy the food in privacy, and offered to watch the door of the billiard room so I could eat.” Namor’s eyebrow rose. “And we rejoined the party just as the Crimson Dynamos attacked.”

“I see. What a shame, as I have asked She-Hulk to accompany me to the play tomorrow night. I had hoped you would ask the young lady, what is her name, Victor, it keeps escaping me.”

“Lewis,” Victor replied. “Darcy Lewis.”

“That’s it. Yes. I had hoped you would ask her to be your date, so that we would be an even group.”

“I do not know that Miss Lewis would --“

“Victor,” Namor said, rising up and propping himself on his elbow. “She would say yes, if you asked. I’m positive of it.”

“I will consider it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Namor, I’d like to get some sleep.” 

 

In his bedroom, he removed his outer tunic, then his armor, leaving, as always, the mask for last. First the metal outer shell, then the tight cloth hood that kept the metal from chafing or tearing the fragile scar tissue beneath. He often slept with the hood on, unwilling to look at the damage that had been done so long ago, but for some reason he could not put into words, tonight he delicately rolled the silk material up, pulling it away. It still took him several minutes to brace himself enough to look in the mirror.  


Craters and valleys of pink and red and purple scar tissue covered his face from his nose up, more concentrated on his right side than his left. Wisps here and there of brave brown and gray stubble and hair poked haphazardly over his face and bald head. His lip curled into a sneer, and with a wave, the hair was gone; it was messy. He did not care for mess. His fingers curled upon the marble sink, and he had to take a deep breath and remind himself what trouble it was to cast an illusion, how much personal energy it took to hold. He had tried before, when first he learned the discipline, but even he could not keep such an illusion steady for more than a few hours, and it was impossible to perform any strenuous magic.  


The few minutes spent with Miss Lewis, for it had not been long at all, perhaps half an hour altogether, had been delightful to him. They had spoken of things he had once enjoyed, once cherished. She had listened, listened very carefully, to his cares, to his reasons for the changes he was fighting so hard to make. She had treated him with care and compassion, and he admitted, standing there in the cold marble bathroom, that those few moments had given him more pleasure and enjoyment than anything in the last twenty years of his life, more than any triumph, more than any momentary thrill of mastering a new spell or backwards engineering feat that he had accomplished with the technology he had stolen from other worlds. He had drawn more satisfaction and delight from a single conversation with a woman half his true age, and he wanted to recapture that, if he could at all.

“Simple pleasures,” he said aloud, the words echoing off the gray marble tiles. Yes. Simple pleasures. The pleasure of good conversation, of someone listening to him not in fear or in awe but just because she wanted to. Of a shared joy, in Tolkien’s work. And her question of who he was from the works…she was asking who he saw himself as, who he was now. He had given her the most honest answer he could; he was a villain, reforming. Someone who power had corrupted -- no, who the lust for power had corrupted. Saruman had not made that choice; his pride would not let him.

Victor had, and did, every day now, every moment. The megalomaniacal bent had not left him. He simply did the exact opposite, in every instance, of what he would have done before. And so far, so far, it was working. He looked again at his face in the mirror, let the tragedy and the waste of his life run through his mind, the endless troubles with Reed over Susan, over petty grievances.  
“No more,” he said quietly. “No more.” The silk sheath slid easily back over his face, leaving only his brown eyes peering out at the world, and he went to bed.

“The president won’t be in office for much longer,” the secretary of state said bluntly. He had come along with both former President Bushes and former President Obama to a morning social at the embassy, and asked for a very quick, impromptu meeting.  
“There’s no possible way he can hang on. The special prosecutors are on the verge of exposing all the secret ties between the president and the New Soviet, and it is my personal hope, Lord Protector, that they take the VP down with him. Not to mention, the Democrats will almost certainly sweep the elections in a couple of months. It’s practically a given. The American people have had the equivalent of a baby in a throne for the last year and a half, and they’re pissed.”

“And what is it that America wants from Latveria?” Victor asked, leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t know what the president wants, hell, he doesn’t know what he wants besides a Diet Coke half the time,” Secretary Tillerson replied. “What does Latveria need that America can provide?”

“At this moment? Almost nothing. We are currently hammering out the last details on a new trade agreement with the EU, we are sending Latverian shock troops and armaments to Finland and the Ukraine in order to help shore up their defenses. I cannot trust your current administration, Mr. Secretary. Once you have a president who is not the New Soviet’s puppet, we will be able to come to terms, but right now?” Victor shook his head. “The best I can do is send intelligence to someone trustworthy.”

“You were at the Avengers Tower last night,” the secretary said. “And you know Director Coulson.”

“Director Coulson is a good man. Yes. I would send intelligence to him,” Victor agreed. “Or to Captain America, if he knows where it should best be sent on.”

“You wouldn’t be sending it to Cap. He’s not spy material,” the secretary said with a wry smile. “Black Widow or Hawkeye. Either of them would know what to do with it, but Coulson is your best bet.”

“Then he and I will iron out those arrangements before I leave. I’ll make a call to Avengers Tower to speak with Black Widow and Hawkeye this afternoon. You should probably do the same.” He didn’t ask what kind of intelligence they wanted; he was fairly sure he knew. “We should rejoin the others,” he suggested. “I do not wish to keep former President Bush out any longer than I must; he is looking very fragile, these days.”

“Yes, Lord Protector. Thank you for this meeting, I deeply appreciate it,” the secretary said, holding out his hand, and Victor shook it briefly.

“It was no trouble, Mr. Secretary.” He led the gentleman to the door, and as he entered the hall, a page came up, handing him a note.

“Message from a Ms. Darcy Lewis, political analyst and liaison for the Avengers: she apologizes for interrupting your schedule, but if you have a chance, her number is 903-7954.” Something in him twisted round in glee, reading those few words. He tucked the paper into his pocket, and went on to see to his guests. He would call Darcy after they had left.

 

“Hello, this is Darcy Lewis.” 

“Ms. Lewis. Victor Von Doom.”

“Oh hi! Hey, I was just wondering if you might be interested in consuming some of that mass media you’ve missed out on,” she said, and he could hear her smiling. “I don’t think we could do the whole first trilogy, but somehow, and I do not ask questions, but somehow, Tony has a copy of the actual original movie, without all the added CGI stuff. I thought I’d lay claim to the TV room and I could introduce you to it.”

“That is…very kind,” he managed to say. “And I was calling for several reasons. First, I find I need to meet with Black Widow and Hawkeye this afternoon. Can you arrange that?”

“Uh, yeah, shouldn’t be an issue,” she said, and he heard a pen scratching on paper. “What else?”

“I,” he had to swallow. “I was hoping that you are free this evening.”

“Yeah, I’m free,” she agreed. “Plans?”

“Have you seen Hamilton?”

“Yes, but it’s amazing and I would love to see it again,” she said quickly. “Seriously, it’s one of the greatest musicals of all time.”

“Then I would greatly appreciate your company. Namor has asked Miss Walters; I hope you are friendly?”

“Yes. Jennifer’s very friendly, actually. When should I be ready?”

“The curtain is to rise at seven. May I pick you up at six?”

“I’ll be downstairs waiting,” she promised.

“Excellent. I look forward to it.”

 

Darcy made sure the phone was hung up properly before letting out a huge breath. “Okay. Okay, I can do this, okay.” Still, this was kind of a big fucking deal. Then she texted Nat, and tried to settle herself down to get back to work. She didn’t know what he wanted with Nat and Clint, probably spy stuff, she wouldn’t ask so she could have plausible deniability if necessary.

She left her office at four, and the second she hit her floor, she called Pepper. “Hey, what do you wear on a date with the leader of a small but deadly foreign power?” She asked as casually as she could.

“LBD, borrow my green Louboutins, and your jade necklace and earrings set,” Pepper said briskly. “I’ll bring the shoes to you.”

“You are life, Pepper.”

“I know. Where’s he taking you?”

“Hamilton, doubles with Namor and Jennifer.”

“Oh, nice. Eat something before you shower.”

“Yep, that’s the plan.”

“Do I need to give you the he’s Victor Von Doom speech?”

“Nah, I figure I’ll get that on discount from Cap, but thanks for the offer.” She was already digging sandwich stuff out of the fridge. “See you in a bit?”

“Sure.” 

Darcy took a breath, another, and made a nice thick bacon and tomato sandwich, waiting for the door to open. When it did, both Pepper and Natasha came inside, Natasha still coming out of what Darcy liked to call “Widow mode.” “I thought you said you were going to listen to your head, kotyonok,” Natasha said, walking into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of juice.

“I am? Sort of?” Darcy tried. “Look, I figure this is just so he doesn’t feel like a third wheel, he said Namor and Jenn are going.”

“I do not think so,” Natasha said, cocking her head to the side. “But I have not seen the pair of you together. I will know more when I see that. Come along; let’s find what you’re wearing.”

“I don’t have time, he’s picking me up at six, I was doing LBD --“

“So go shower. I will find it.” Natasha made shooing motions with her hands. “Go. And I will help with your hair.” 

“And I’ll do your face,” Pepper offered. “She’s right, go get in the shower, it’s already four-thirty.”

 

When she came out, Natasha had half her closet laid out on her bed. “Not the LBD,” ‘Tash said. “Silver. The silver sheath, the jade, the shoes.”

“Wearing his colors,” Darcy said, one eyebrow rising. “That doesn’t look desperate?”

“In his eyes, you will be enchanting. Besides, I called Jennifer, and she is wearing gold, and is already green, so she is wearing Namor’s colors. Now, sit.” Dutifully, Darcy sat, and Natasha began brushing her hair. “Listen. I don’t know if he just wants company, or if he is truly interested. Neither do you. So I can’t give you a game plan. All I can tell you is to be yourself. “

“I can do that.”

“Don’t be nervous. Yes, he’s the leader of a small country. He is also a man. Just a man. And you are a beautiful, lively young woman.” Natasha caught her eyes in her bedroom mirror. “I will caution you with this; Doom has a tendency to fixate. Susan, for example.”

“Yeah. I know.” Obsessive. She’d known that the moment she looked into his eyes, he hungered for something he did not have, perhaps thought he could not have. 

“When is he leaving town?” Pepper asked as she came in, kneeling in front of Darcy, arranging the makeup in reach.

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. He can teleport, if he wants to go home and come back every weekend to see Darcy, there’s nothing stopping him,” Natasha said, flicking Darcy’s neck with her fingers. “Stay still, or the braid will not be even.”

“Guys, I’m not even sure this is more than just him wanting somebody he knows is fairly cool with him instead of an embassy peon on his arm while Namor and Jenn flirt,” Darcy protested. 

“No, we don’t know. But even if that’s the case, if you’re into it, well,” Pepper shrugged, loading the powder brush, “more power to you, as Tony would say. Now hush, I’m working.”

 

The silver dress glimmered in the light, and sparkles glinted here and there in Darcy’s hair, long dark braids pulled from the front and sides, joined in the back, over the length left down. The jade necklace and earrings gleamed on her milky skin, and she looked, and felt, like a million bucks. Natasha walked her to the elevator. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” her friend winked. 

“I won’t, I promise.” Darcy gave her a half-smile. “Tell my stomach butterflies to stop, they’ll listen to you.”

Natasha tapped her abdomen. “Stop it.”

“Thanks.”

“Relax. Have a good time.” The elevator arrived, and Darcy boarded. ‘Tasha waved.

 

She walked into the lobby, feeling a little awkward; they hadn’t agreed on what door to meet at, or -- but there was a liveried driver at the desk, wearing a hat with the big LE on it, and she walked up to him. “Are you waiting for Darcy Lewis?”  
He gave her a half bow and a smile. “Yes, Miss. The Lord Protector awaits you.”

“I hope I’m not late.”

“Not at all, Miss. I only just arrived.” The driver preceded her, opening the doors, and she waited to follow him to the Town Car parked on the street. Before he could open the door, though, Victor got out. He was much of a muchness, really, the armor, the green cloak. He reached out to take Darcy’s hand, bowing over it as he had the night before.

“Darcy. You are…” his voice was soft, sweet. “Exquisite. You shine.”

“Thank you, Victor. And thank you so much for asking me to accompany you.” He kept holding her hand, helping her keep her balance as she got into the car, sliding over the leather seat to the far side. A tinted glass divider was raised between the front and back, and it was a little bigger than the average Town Car, but not much. She waited for him to get in and the car to begin moving before she spoke. “I thought Namor and Jenn were coming?”

“They are taking the limo; this would be a tight fit for Miss Walters,” he explained, and Darcy nodded.

“Yeah, it would. So how was your day?”

“Interesting enough; I met with some of the U.N. officials, and others. And your own?”

“Will you think less of me if I tell you I didn’t get a whole lot of work done after you called?” She asked, smiling. “I mean, I didn’t completely slack, but…”

“Really.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice and his eyes as he looked down at her. The mask showed nothing of his face save his eyes, but they were expressive. 

“Really,” she sighed. “And that’s kind of sucky because I’m going to have to make up for it tomorrow, but I’ll take the trade.”

“I am very glad you said yes,” came the soft reply. “I have not seen this play, you said you have?”

“Yeah, I saw it a couple of weeks after opening night,” she said. “Stark Enterprises has a box, me and Janey and Pepper and Betty went to see it. It’s a lot of fun, it’s very good.”

“I hope they do not make a statement as they did with your Vice-President,” he said lowly. “That was…ill-mannered.”

“If they do, it’ll be because they don’t know what you’re planning,” she said softly. “And besides, there was a lot going on at the time. Everyone was scared. The VP…well…he’s scary. He’s supported conversion therapy, he’s against abortion and birth control and women’s rights and gay rights. You’re not. Even before…before you started implementing changes, you ensured LGBTQ people had civil rights, and could get married in Latveria, I know that. I don’t know that they know that, but I do.”

“You’ve looked that far back into Latverian policy?” He asked, obviously surprised, and she shrugged.

“You instituted gay marriage in Latveria in 1992. Long before anyone else did. I mean, I majored in political science, that was something our professor brought up.”

“May…may I ask how old you are, Darcy?”

“Twenty-six. Twenty-seven in March,” she said with a shrug. “And I’m not asking, because physical age with you, as often as you’ve done the whole time jumping thing, doesn’t really matter.”

“Forty-eight. Or I would be, if the time crossing wasn’t a factor.”

“How old do you feel?” She asked, shifting to face him better.

“Some days? A thousand.”

“Right now?”

“Sixteen.”

“Eww no, that makes me a cougar,” she squealed, and he laughed, his head going back with it, a real belly laugh.

“Sorry. Twenty-one.”

“Better,” she said, reaching over and patting his arm. “Much better.” 

“You -- “ his eyes were wide now, possibly with surprise, or shock, she couldn’t tell, damn it. “You touched --“

“Dude, you’re the one that never takes it off,” she sighed. 

“You don’t mind it?”

“Um.” She tried to think of how to phrase her next few words, her lips pressing together, her brows wrinkling. “It’s…odd, but it’s not that odd. I work for Tony, for God’s sake.”

“It is a necessity. Someday, perhaps, it will not be. But for now…” he let the sentence trail off, and she nodded.

“I don’t mind it,” she assured him. “Like I said. Odd, but not that odd. And I’m a toucher, fair warning.”

“So I see.”

 

Namor and Jennifer made an amazing couple. The golden gown that Jennier wore matched Namor’s tie and waistcoat, his black suit impeccably cut to enhance his attributes. They were waiting in the lobby, both preening just a little for the tourists who kept asking for pictures or selfies. Jennifer grinned when she saw Darcy. "Oh, wow. You look amazing, Darce."

"Victor, I hope you are prepared," Namor said, sweeping an appreciative gaze over Darcy himself. "We are escorting the two most beautiful women in the city, who knows what dastardly villains will interrupt our evening tonight?"

"After last night? I have half a dozen Doombots waiting for my command at the embassy," Victor replied, and Darcy couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Miss Walters. Your radiance is outshone only by the star who has deigned to grace me with her presence."

"Oh, that's well done," Jenn said, smiling. "Be sure and tell Darce more things like that, Lord Doom."

"Complimenting beautiful women is never a hardship. Shall we?" He led the way to the private box, set above and to the left of the stage. The view was just a little different than when Darcy had seen the play eight months before, and she looked forward to seeing it from a different angle. The air conditioning was practically spitting ice, and she shivered a little as she settled in.

"Are you cold?" Victor had yet to take his seat, and he swept the cloak from his shoulders in a blink, holding it out for her.

"Thanks," she said softly, standing and allowing him to wrap it snugly around her shoulders. "The air conditioning is a little high for this dress."

"My pleasure," he murmured in her ear. They took their seats, and as the curtain rose, Darcy laid her hand, palm up, on the armrest of her seat. It took a little time, but eventually, the cool metal of his glove grazed her palm. She stayed still; it took another few seconds before his fingers slowly slid into hers, their palms meeting with only the metal of his glove between them.

At intermission, Jennifer and Darcy made a run for the restroom, Darcy taking full advantage of the fact that Jennifer was She-Hulk, following in her wake as the crowds parted before her. Still, there was a line, and the two settled to wait. "So," Jennifer began. "Victor."

"Yep," Darcy agreed. "So, Namor."

"Is cute and can keep up with me. That's important." Jenn grinned down at her. "I'm not an idiot, he'll disappear in a couple days, we're just having fun."

"Cool, cool," Darcy said, nodding. 

"He says Victor's serious about, you know, being less of an asshole," Jennifer went on. "So that's a relief." Darcy shrugged. 

"Not a whole bunch of people in our crowd can really talk about assholery, Jenn, how about we drop that, huh?"

"True," Jennifer sighed. "Just. You know what you're doing, right?"

"It's our first date. And somehow I doubt that he sweeps me back to the embassy and seduces me."

"Fair play to you. Good point." They hurried through the restroom, each touching up their makeup in the hallway outside so as to keep the line moving, and returned to the box. Both men stood as they entered, Namor handing Jennifer a glass of wine, Victor to Darcy. “Chateau Pontet Canet, 2009,” he said. “I prefer red.”

“Thank you.” She inhaled the bouquet first, let the notes rise, before tasting it. “It’s very good.”

“I’m very glad you like it.” They settled in again for the second act, and this time when Darcy offered her hand in the dark, he took it without hesitation. They were three songs into the second act, the notes of “Take A Break” still echoing in the air, before she realized he had taken off his glove. His hand was large and dry, just the tiniest bit of fuzzy hair on the backs of his fingers. His palm was calloused, and she could feel a small scar just above his thumb. Smiling, she squeezed lightly, and waited until the stage lights dimmed for the next scene before leaning close to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing again.

“No. Thank you.”

She stood beside the elevator in Avengers Tower, looking up into his eyes before she pressed the button; the elevator was super fast, and she wasn’t sure she wanted the evening to end. But it had to. Besides, it was only their first date, and if she’d read him right, there would be others. “So…truthfully, this is a little awkward,” she began. “I mean, the endings of first dates always are.”

“I have not dated often,” he admitted. “Would you prefer to shake hands, or…”

“No, I’d prefer a hug. Are you good with a hug? Will you…I mean, I don’t know how much tactile sensation you’ll get…” she said, biting her lip.

“Enough to know that I will enjoy it,” he said, his posture shifting, becoming a little more easy, and Darcy reached out to wrap her arms around his chest. The metal gave just slightly to her touch, and Victor’s answering embrace was hesitant. She looked up at him, letting her chin rest on his chest.

“You can hug tighter.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I trust that you know how to hug, Victor.”

“It has been a long time,” he said, but he did tighten his arms around her just a little. “I have had an enchanting evening, Darcy.”

“So have I.” 

“I must return to Latveria at the end of the week.”

“I know.”

“I would like to see you again before I leave.”

“Good. That makes two of us.” She squeezed one more time, then let go, kissing her fingertips and laying them on the mouth slit of his mask. “Call me. I’ve got a work thing tomorrow night, so that’s a no-go, but the rest of my week is open.”

“I shall.” She backed out of his arms, into the now waiting elevator. “Good night, Darcy.”

“Good night, Victor.” 

 

“Miss Lewis?” FRIDAY’s voice cut through the darkness, and Darcy groaned, rolling over. “Miss Lewis.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She rubbed her face with the heel of her hand, huffed out a breath, looking out the window to see that it was still dark. A glance at her sPhone told her it was just past five in the morning. “What is it, FRIDAY?”

“Lord Doom is on the line for you. He says it is urgent.”

“Fuck. Okay, patch him through.” She waited the requisite few seconds, her brain still fuzzy with sleep, but clearing with each moment. God, what could be wrong that he was calling her now?

“Darcy. I’m sorry, I know I’ve woken you.” His voice was…dangerously close to the recordings she had heard of his old self. Anger laced his words, and it took her a second to respond.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she said, blinking. “What’s wrong?”

“I am leaving for Latveria within the next ten minutes. Hostilities are escalating in Ukraine, and there are rumors of Soviet troops nearing Belarus and Poland.”

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed.

“Rather. I wanted to let you know.”

“Um. Yeah, do you -- can I do anything? I mean, I can go get Tony or Cap --“

“No. The appearance of the Avengers in the region will only destabilize it further, though I appreciate your offer.” 

“Victor --“ she didn’t know what to say. They’d had one date. Two, if you counted the attack two nights before. 

Someone spoke in the background on his end, and he replied to them in Latverian, a strangely pretty, if guttural, language. “I am only observing, at the moment, though…is this line secure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, nobody can hack Tony Stark, hon.”

“I signed a mutual defense treaty with Poland, Romania, and Ukraine on the same afternoon that we met.” Her breath sucked in; she knew what that meant. That meant that if the New Soviet did attack those countries, or in the case of Ukraine, if they asked for assistance, he would have to help. Same thing backwards, too, but…and she wanted, so much, she wanted to say come say goodbye, wait for me to get to the embassy to tell you goodbye -- but they’d had one date. Just one. And while she admitted to herself that she felt a very distinct attraction, and that she wanted to do the whole romantic goodbye, sending her man off to war, type thing, well, he wasn’t her man, per se. They had had one date, and a few minutes of pleasant conversation the night before that. That was all. 

“Please be careful,” she said, making sure her words were clear, hoping he couldn’t hear how her breathing had gotten tight and quick. “I really like you, and I want to see you again. I have a multitude of talents, but the extent of my necromancy is playing with a Ouija board when I was twelve.”

He laughed at that, bringing a smile to her own face in the dark. “And did you get an answer?”

“Yes, but I’m pretty sure it was my friend Linda. My point is, don’t get dead,” she stressed. “Kind of hard to date dead guys.”

“I promise you I will do everything in my power to remain on this prime material plane. I intend to stay in Latveria, barring any true emergency that might require my presence on the front lines. You do understand the importance, don’t you?” Darcy had already grabbed her phone and pulled up Google Maps, studying the borders.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it, I’m looking at the map right now. The New Soviet moves in any further through Ukraine, it threatens Romania, and if Romania falls --“

“Latveria would be next. Yes. Or they could sweep down through Poland; Belarus will likely let them move through. I cannot let that happen, and I will not. But I cannot oversee the troop and ordnance movements from here, and it must be done, and I must be the one to do so. In fact, I am the only one in Latveria who can.”

“You have responsibilities, I get that,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest in her bed. “I really appreciate your calling to tell me, waking up to that on the news would suck.”

His voice softened. “You are welcome. I thought…we had spoken of seeing one another again before I left, I thought it only right to tell you.”

“You did the right thing. And hey. Don’t let Putin and his pals goad you into doing something that would fuck up your new image, okay?”

“I don’t intend to.” More voices in the background, and he snapped a reply, silence falling. “I must go.”

“Stay safe. And if you have to go oversee things on the front lines…if you have to…personally intervene, do me a favor and call me first? Heck, call me anytime, I don’t care about the time difference.”

“I will, in both cases. Hopefully, this will pass quickly. Goodbye, Darcy.” The line clicked dead, and she fell backwards on her bed, closing her eyes against hot tears of worry.

“He’s Victor fucking Von fucking Doom, Darce,” she scolded herself in the dark. “He’s badass as fuck. He’s fought everybody. He knows what he’s doing.” But the words didn’t help her much. Russia didn’t just have regular soldiers, they had their own mutants and supersoldiers and Christ knew what else. Sighing, she threw the covers back. She wasn’t getting back to sleep, that was for damn sure. “FRIDAY. Keep me updated about…about the situation in Eastern Europe, okay?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis.”

“Thanks.”


	8. Chapter 8

She wasn’t surprised to see Natasha leaning against the wall outside her office at five o’clock that afternoon, half-smirking with worried eyes. “Kotyonok.”

“Tante.” That drew the smirk into a small smile as Natasha walked with her to the private elevator, both staying silent until the doors closed before them. Then ‘Tash slid her hand into Darcy’s, interlocking their fingers. “He called,” Darcy said quietly. “At like, five this morning. To tell me what was going on. That he had to leave.”

“That was good of him.”

“Yeah.” Darcy bit her lip. “It sucks.”

“Yes.” The elevator stopped, and Natasha stepped out first, her grip firm, leading Darcy to the apartment she shared with Clint rather than going to Darcy’s. Clint met them at the door with Natasha’s vodka and iced glasses, taking Darcy’s bag and shoving her gently toward the couch. 

“So,” Natasha began after all the glasses had emptied once. “The date went well?”

“Yeah,” Darcy sighed, holding her glass out for ‘Tasha to refill. “Really well. We…shit, I’ve got the party at --“

“Nope. Secretary of State canceled it, due to the new developments,” Clint interrupted. “Keep going.”

“We talked about getting together again later this week,” Darcy said after a second. “We had fun, it was a good time, I mean…I think he likes me. I think he really likes me.”

“Who could not?” Natasha purred. “You were lovely.”

“He held my hand,” Darcy added, blushing. “Took his glove off for the second --“ Clint choked, vodka dribbling out over his lower lip, and both Darcy and Natasha looked at him, waiting for him to breathe.

“Wait,” he said between coughs. “Wait, what?”

“He took his glove off and held my hand?”

“You’ve touched --“ Clint coughed again. “-- Victor Von Doom? You’ve touched his skin? He has skin?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Clint, he’s not Darth Vader,” Darcy sighed, but when she looked at Natasha, she saw how carefully blank her expression was. “What?”

“Doom doesn’t do that,” Natasha said quietly. “Doom never takes off his armor in public. Any part of it. I have known of him, I have watched him, I have studied him, at various times, for various employers, looking for weaknesses, for slips. Darcy. He never,  
never, removes any piece of the armor at any time. Not even in his castle. Perhaps in his bedroom, he is human, he must sleep, but…no.”

“Well, we held hands during the first act, and it was okay. Kind of weird, because his glove is…it’s metal, but it’s really super flexible. Not uncomfortable, it didn’t bother me or anything. Then I went to the bathroom at intermission with Jennifer, we came back, we all had some wine, we settled in for the second act…yeah. Yeah, he had his glove off through the whole second act. But it was dark, and pretty private.” Both the spies were looking at her now as if she’d grown another head.

“Well,” Clint recovered first. “So you guys went out last night and then…”

“Yeah.” Darcy nodded, slumping backwards against the couch. “Then I got a call at five this morning saying he had to go, that the New Soviet were pushing their luck.”

“And you didn’t come tell us,” Natasha said. “You just got up and went to work.”

“I asked if he wanted me to get Tony or Steve, he said no. That the Avengers showing up could make the situation even worse,” she sighed. “My hands were, they are, tied. There’s nothing the Avengers can do. There’s nothing I can do. It’s up to the Kremlin now.”

Natasha filled her glass again, raised an eyebrow at Clint when he pushed his glass closer. “You choked.”

“I was surprised,” he retorted. Natasha snorted, but refilled his glass. “Thank you.” 

“It is after midnight in Latveria now,” Natasha said, picking up her glass. “Have you heard from him since this morning?”

“No.” Darcy tried to keep her lip from trembling, and thought she’d done a fairly good job of it. “He’s probably way busy.”

“No news is good news,” Clint added. “No news means he’s not out there on the front lines, no news means nobody’s infiltrated Castle Doom. Because if the New Soviet were able to get an assassin in there, they’d be crowing about it.”

“Were you seen with him last night by anyone?” Natasha asked suddenly.

“We were at Hamilton, ‘Tash, it was crowded as hell.” The spies exchanged a look, and Darcy looked back and forth between them. “What?”

“Take it that you were, then,” Clint said. “Listen, you don’t leave the building without at least three security agents for a while, okay?”

“What? No, we had one date, we’ve never been seen together before --“

“Crimson Dynamos,” Clint said brusquely. “You and ‘Tasha approached him and Namor at the party. You went inside with him. You came back out with him. You’re a legit target, Darce. At least three agents, I’d feel better if you didn’t go out without an Avenger or an X-Man for a while, to be honest.”

“There were other observers besides the Dynamos,” Natasha added. “I know there were. And you had a nice long conversation with him outside, in clear view, while everyone else was busy. I am not scolding you; I am pointing this out. They know who you are. They know he has shown interest in you, and they know that you are a member of our support staff. You are likely a high priority target now for an extraction and kidnapping team.”

“Christ,” Darcy muttered, holding out her glass again. “Top me up.”

“He has likely thought of this now as well,” Natasha went on. “If things went as well as you think they did, it would not surprise me to wake up tomorrow morning to see the building flanked by Doombots.”

“Oh, surely not, he’s got to know what kind of fit Tony would throw over that,” Darcy argued. “You want to talk about a pissing contest, Christ, Doombots versus the Iron Legion, Tony’d go batshit.” Natasha shrugged, sipping her vodka. 

“Perhaps he will not send them overtly,” she said. “But if you do not hear from the Latverian Embassy offering you extra security within, say, the next forty-eight hours? I will be very surprised indeed. And what do you think that security will be made of?”

“Doombots,” Darcy sighed, collapsing against the sofa. “God. Tony will be livid.”

“Well, if nothing else, you’ll be able to tell just how much he likes you,” Clint grinned. “What would you say, Tash? Three if he’s really into her?”

“I would feel better if he hired someone, but yes, at least three,” Natasha said, stone-faced. “Perhaps the best of both worlds; perhaps --“

“Not Wade. Just not Wade,” Clint said, looking up at the ceiling and pressing his hands together as if he were praying. “Oh please God not Wade.”

“You’re both horrible,” Darcy grinned. “First, again, one date, hello? Second, he’s got a little more on his mind than me right now. Third, hiring somebody? Like who?”

“Deadpool,” Natasha said frankly, and Clint dropped back against the couch, shaking his head violently.

“No, no, no, no, no, not Wade, just not Wade, I don’t care who else --“

“I have heard that Creed is available; who would you rather, then, Deadpool or Sabretooth?” Natasha asked, raising one eyebrow. “The worst thing about Wade is that he talks too much.”

“Too much? He never stops!” Clint exclaimed. 

“And Sabretooth is apt to lose his humanity and try to kill everyone,” Natasha snapped back. “Wade will shut up if you are firm enough.”

“What about LeBeau? I’ll call him myself, you’d like Remy, Darce, he’s long and tall and made out of sex,” Clint offered.

“Yes, because her beau is going to hire someone who would try to charm his way into her pants,” Natasha pointed out. Darcy sat back with her vodka, pleasantly buzzed, waiting for the two spies to stop arguing.

“Guys. It doesn’t matter because he’s not going to do any such thing,” Darcy said quickly when both of them had paused. “One date, you guys, I’m not a princess, I’m not anybody important. He barely knows my name.”

“Would you care to place a wager?” Natasha offered, and Darcy considered. If Nat was sure enough that she was willing to bet on it…because Nat didn’t bet unless it was a sure thing.

“Okay, maybe, but at best it’ll be a single Doombot. I actually think it might be one or two of his Latverian Embassy heavies, if anything at all.”

“We will see,” Natasha said, winking. “Probably by morning.”

 

Intelligence briefings, meetings with his allies and their generals along with his own, working out a cohesive united defensive strategy that would save as many lives and materiel as possible, calculating with his military advisors how much ordnance and how many super tanks and operations teams to drive them could be spared, as well as how quickly the reinforcements would arrive at their destinations, all these things had filled his time from the moment he had arrived home.  


Now, however, all that was left was the waiting and the hope that the New Soviet would realize what a mistake they were making; the EU had already issued a condemnatory statement against the aggressive movements and escalation in Ukraine, the UN were trying to open up diplomatic relations. Hopefully, this would all have been for naught. For now, all that was left was to wait and see. He gave orders that he was not to be disturbed save for an emergency, and went to his rooms. He had been awake for over 24 hours, and though he could remain conscious and coherent for up to four days, he preferred not to if it was not necessary, even if it was only late afternoon.

He took a shower, soaked for a bit, then went to bed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply and rhythmically in order to invite sleep. Then Darcy’s features passed behind his eyelids, and he sat up, cursing as he picked up the phone beside the bed. It took several minutes for the international call to go through, but eventually she answered.

“Avengers Initiative, this is Darcy Lewis.”

“Darcy.” 

“Victor,” she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice. Damn. 

“I hope this is not a bad time,” he began.

“No, no, I just sat down behind my desk. How are you? Is everything okay?” 

“I am exhausted,” he admitted. “And once we hang up, I intend on sleeping until either a servant wakes me, or I wake on my own. But I am well, so far.”

“Good. Stay that way,” she said firmly, and he had to chuckle at the cheek of the young woman giving orders, even faux-orders, to him. “Seriously, though, I’m really glad you called.”

“As am I. How are you?”

“I’m okay. I’ve got a little tiny bit of a headache because I drank too much of Nat’s vodka last night, fair warning, don’t drink with the Black Widow, she can drink anybody but Steve and Thor under the table.”

“I will keep that in mind. You said there was a function you had to attend last night. Were you able to avoid it, then?”

“Nah, it got canceled. The Secretary of State was too busy with the UN because of what’s going on over there. It’s okay, I didn’t really want to meet the president’s kids anyway.” He snorted.

“Inform me if the sons are rude. The daughter is much better bred; she takes after her mother, the first wife.”

“Oh, I fully expect Junior and Nimrod to be douchecanoes,” she said airily. “I actually got a gown that covers all the assets just for them.” It took a moment for him to parse what she meant, and his free hand grasped his coverlet tightly at the thought of either  
of the president’s sons being ungentlemanly with her.

“As I said, inform me,” he repeated himself, carefully keeping his voice steady. “There are certain business dealings with Chernaya that I will gladly interfere in, should they need a reminder of how well connected you are.” And that reminded him. “You have not left Avengers Tower, have you?”

“Not since yesterday morning, no, but I’m going to have to eventually.”

“If it would not be too presumptuous, would you do me the kindness of informing the Embassy if you do? They will send a security detail for you. I have no fear for you within Avengers Tower itself; even if they are called away, Stark’s security team and his technology should be sufficient.” Too, he would call Stark, he decided. A subdermal tracker somewhere discreet would not go amiss, if she did not have one already. She was, after all, an intimate of Prince Thor, and obviously a favorite of the team.

“If it will make you feel better,” she said after a moment. “Guess I get to tell Nat she was right.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Natasha and Clint said last night they thought you’d want security for me. Clint doesn’t want me leaving without at least three members of security, or an Avenger. I told them I thought that was a little…” she paused. “I don’t know, we’ve had one date, I thought it was a little soon for something like that.”

“In any other time, I would agree. But this is a time of hostility, and the FSB do not play by the rules.”

“You know the Avengers would come for me, right?”

“That is not the point. The point is that nothing untoward happen to you to begin with. You are a noncombatant civilian, but that will not stop certain agencies.”

“If it’ll put your mind at ease, sure,” she said lightly. “You’ve got enough to worry about right now without adding me into the mix.”

“Then I will make the arrangements momentarily. Thank you for understanding.”

“Oh, I don’t have any problem with being safe,” she laughed. “You’re welcome. And you should probably get some sleep, and I’ve got to earn my paycheck, so --“

“Of course. Was this a good time? May I call again?”

“Anytime, Victor. And especially if you have to go add a personal touch, okay?”

“I remember. Have a good day, Darcy.”

“Good night, Victor.” He hung up, called the New York embassy and gave the requisite orders for her security detail if requested, debated…it was still fairly early…and decided not to call Stark until later. Besides, if push came to shove, there were magical means of finding her. He was able, then, to lie back and eventually sleep.

 

The intelligence that came in overnight was not promising. The strengthening push into Ukraine, the troops now crossing Belarus, pointed toward the New Soviet’s determination to reconquer the smaller countries. Belarus could be forgiven; their position was unenviable, and while Victor knew they were playing both sides against the middle, he also knew that they could not possibly stand before the might of the troops currently passing through their country. He gave the orders for the immediate air transport of several brigades of Doombots to help defend Poland’s eastern border, with promises of more as soon as he knew more about the Ukrainian situation. He also gave the orders for the supertanks, already loaded onto the special express trains, and their operators to make the journey to Lublin and Bialystok for assignment. Those destined for Ukraine and Romania were already en route.  


A teleconference with the generals, exhibiting the latest Doombot models and pointing out their strengths, took up a few hours, and then another teleconference with Chancellor Merkel, President Macron, and President Mattarella regarding the efforts the EU had made to convince Russia to stand down. He did not comment on the absence of Prime Minister May and President Trump; it was only to be expected, after the Brexit, and of course President Trump likely did not even know there were currently tensions. Nor, to be honest, did Victor think the man would care. Ukraine was far enough away that the U.S. could ignore it, though he had an idea that the First Lady was likely keeping a very close eye on the situation. She was from the region, after all.  


Now he paced in his control center, waiting. He felt somewhat bound by his determination to change; were he the Doom of five years ago, he would have gone to the front and decimated the armies with a few spells, driven them forth from the soil of his allies and shown no mercy. He could feel the energy, taste the triumph…but no. “I am not that man any longer,” he growled to himself between gritted teeth. “I am better. I am stronger, I am more than I was.” But the words did nothing to curb his desire to see something destroyed by his hands.

He swallowed his irritation, and began reviewing the currently available freelance enhanced humans or mutants who might be acceptable to Darcy as a bodyguard. She could not be followed by a Doombot all the time, and while the embassy’s security was top notch, they were all human. He did not like their chances against more Crimson Dynamos or perhaps Black Widows.

Sabretooth was not an option, due to his instability. Certainly he was supposedly “cured,” but he had seen Victor Creed in his murderous frenzies, and he would not risk Darcy in that manner. Elektra was a possibility, save for the fact that she had a price of her own on her head, one that would never be called off. Deadpool was annoying, and too easily distracted. 

He studied videos of the last current possibility for a long few minutes, the high angular cheekbones, the saucy grin, the insolent grace, the lean, muscular body. His upper lip lifted into a sneer, watching him attempt to charm every woman he met. Did he dare try to hire this one? What if Darcy found him attractive? What if, since he was unable to court her properly right now, she allowed that charm to disarm her? He pushed himself away from the control panel, paced the room again, glancing every so often at the loop of the man in action leaping to provide cover for a child, defending an elderly man, sweeping a handful of foes into unconsciousness with a few well placed blows. Finally, he stopped, folding his arms over his chest.  


He was fond of Darcy. She seemed fond of him. They were not sworn to one another in any way, they had not even begun to scratch the surface of any type of relationship. Hiring someone to guard her was not for his benefit, it was for hers. Her association with him was what would place her in jeopardy; he was therefore honor bound to ensure her safety. Out of the available possibilities, this was the best option.  
And besides, if she gave way to the flattering rogue’s charms, if she could not remember who had hired him and why to begin with, then it was simply not meant to be. He sighed, then picked up the phone. 

 

The welding arc flashed blue, hotly hypnotic, as the Clash screamed about knowing one’s rights, the thudding bass enough to feel it in his feet as he worked, mouthing the words along with the song. He had just finished the line of weld when the song cut off abruptly, and he cut off the welding torch, flipping up his helmet. “FRIDAY?”

“Sorry, sir, but you didn’t hear me the first eight times I called your name,” his AI said. “Lord Protector Von Doom is on the line for you.”

“Oh.” Tony wrenched the helmet off, wiped his forehead on his arm. “How long do I have before Pep wants me for the dinner thing?”

“Two and a half hours, sir.”

“Right, and my alarm is --“

“For an hour and a half from now. Shall I put Lord Doom through, sir?”

“Yeah. Yeah, patch him in.” He laid his tools to the side, got a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and downed it, waiting.

“Mr. Stark.” Doom’s voice boomed, even when he wasn’t meaning to. He’d have made a hell of a front for a metal band. Literally, Tony thought to himself, grinning.

“Vic! Good to hear from you. How’s Europe?”

“Holding together for the moment. May I have a word?”

“Sure. You need a hand out there? I don’t mind,” Tony offered. “I owe them a courtesy call after the other night, to be honest.”

“I promise you, Mr. Stark, you are first on the list should reinforcements be needed. I’m calling regarding Miss Lewis’ current security measures.” Tony blinked.

“She lives in Avengers Tower, man, we’re not going to let anything happen to her,” Tony began, a low growl of discontent rumbling in his belly. What, he didn’t think the Avengers could keep her safe?

“I’m well aware, but she does have to leave the tower from time to time, Mr. Stark, and while your security teams are top-notch, they are human,” Doom said. “Humans, unenhanced humans, well trained humans, are very well and good against most of the FSB  
or human extraction teams. I am more concerned for mutant and enhanced threats. I have a bodyguard candidate in mind for her. I am calling to ask if I might rent the gentleman a suite of rooms in the Tower, so that he is always at hand. This is only temporary,” he added. “Until the unpleasantness here is over, and the New Soviet come to their senses.”

“Who’ve you got in mind?” Tony asked, taking another swallow of his water.

“Remy LeBeau. Gambit.” Tony choked, coughed, had to catch his breath.

“I thought he was upstate? In Westchester?” He said when he could speak again.

“No. He has left Xavier’s team, and is currently working as a freelance operative in Quebec City.” 

“Not New Orleans?”

“I believe he is persona non grata in the Crescent City at the moment. Something to do with the Assassin’s Guild.”

“Yeah. Yeah, um. Let me put you on hold for just a minute so I can check the availability, okay?”

“Certainly.” Tony made a cutting gesture over his throat at one of the cameras, and Billy Joel’s “Vienna” began to play, signaling that Doom was on hold. “FRIDAY? Do we have anything?”

“The guest floor below the Avengers’ floor is currently empty, sir,” came the lilting answer. “The current market value for one of the guest suites is approximately $15,000 per month, due to the space, the limited availability of rentals in New York, and the location.”

“Okay. Bring him back on.” The music cut again. “Vic, you there?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” came the irritated reply, and Tony grinned to himself. 

“Yeah. I’ve got some room, I’ll cut you a deal because it’s for Artoo. Eight grand a month, it’s a two bedroom suite with a hell of a view, access to the Avengers’ workout area and communal areas if he wants it. Comes furnished, top of the line electronics, utilities, cable, and delivery service included.”

“Acceptable. I will call you back after I speak to Mr. LeBeau,” Doom said after a second. “I deeply appreciate your courtesy in this matter.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Tony said easily. “Let’s do doubles next time you’re in town, me and Pep, you and Darce, huh?” A long pause.

“I have no objections. Thank you again.”

“Sure thing. Later.” He made the motion again, and the call cut off. “FRIDAY. Make sure one of the suites is deep cleaned,” he ordered. “I don’t know when he’ll show, so, let’s get on it.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I have groceries delivered as well?”

“No; wait on that until we know when. Work up an invoice for the Latverian Embassy at eight.”

“Yes, sir.” Tony hefted his helmet up, slid it back on his head, tightened the belt. 

“How much longer do I have to play, FRIDAY?”

“Approximately one hour, eighteen minutes, sir.”

“Awesome. Bring back the tunes.” _“You have the right…to free speech…as long as you’re not dumb enough to actually TRY it!”_ The music picked back up right where it had left off. Tony grinned, flipping his hood down and re-lit the welding torch, bending back over his work.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, Darcy scooped up the last bite of her cereal, watching an episode of The Herculoids in the common room. She judged the amount of milk left in the bowl with a practiced eye; not quite enough for more cereal. Sad. She lifted the bowl, slurping a little as she drank the milk down, burping contentedly when it was gone. "Stay classy, Artoo," Tony said behind her, and she giggled.

"You know it. You gonna veg out with me today?" She leaned backwards over the back of the couch, looking at him upside down.

"I don't do cartoons. What's in the TV Guide for the afternoon?" Tony asked, grinning at her and coming all the way into the common room, hiking a hip up onto the side of the couch. 

"Creature Feature?" Darcy offered. "I Was A Teenaged Werewolf and Godzilla with subtitles?"

"Make it both Godzilla?" Tony asked, and Darcy pouted, her bottom lip sticking out. "Oh come on --"

"Darcy," Steve's voice rang out from the hall. "You busy?"

"Yep!" She replied. "Watching brainless TV and pretending the outside world doesn't exist for the day, Steve."

Tony frowned as Steve came in, jumped onto the couch. "Share the blanket," he said, grabbing some of the brightly patterned fabric. He looked down at said pattern, then back up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Falcon?"

"Tech enhanced and studly, this way no blow to your ego or Steve's," she shrugged. Tony considered, nodded. 

"Makes sense. So, Herculoids?"

"Space Ghost next or the Tarzan/Zorro/Lone Ranger Hour?" She asked brightly. Tony saw Steve shaking his head out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Space Ghost. Are you Jan or Blip?"

"Definitely Blip. He saves everybody all the time," Darcy said, nodding firmly. "Steve, why are you still standing? You can't watch cartoons standing."

"I'm not watching cartoons," Steve said, though he glanced at the screen. "There's Zorro?"

"The Zorro/Lone Ranger/Tarzan Hour," Darcy replied helpfully. "I think it lasted two seasons in the eighties, and then Filmation did a reboot in the late 90s, early 2000s."

"Thanks. Look, Darcy --“ Steve began, and she held up her hand.

"Am I about to get a lecture?"

"Not a lecture," Steve said. "I want to know why you didn't tell us about the situation in Eastern Europe escalating."

"One; the Avengers are not the parents of the world, two, I asked him if he wanted you to know and he said no, and three, I know damn good and well you were briefed on the situation within an hour of my having the information so four, fuck off and let me watch cartoons." Darcy said the last with a bright, toothy smile, one that Tony recognized a bit too well; you don’t have the right to give me shit, was the sentiment behind that kind of smile.

"I was not informed that you had gone on a date with him the evening before," Steve said, frowning. "Listen, Darce, I'm sure there's lots of perfectly nice guys in New York, heck, that work in the building, that would love to date you."

"Wait." Darcy paused the cartoon and looked up at Steve. "Are you trying to tell me who I can date, Steve?"

"I just.." He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight awkwardly. "He's not a good guy, Darce.” Tony watched all of this avidly, his gaze switching back and forth between the two, picking up the box of Lucky Charms beside Darcy and popping some into his mouth before it hit him, and he snickered. "I said I'm jealous, I'm jealous again," he sang, and Darcy paled.

"Is that what this is?" She asked, slowly pushing the comforter off her lap and rising to her feet to face Steve. "Are you jealous, Steve?"

"I just don't think you're thinking this through is all," Steve said. "He's talking a great game and he's got kind of a dangerous thing about him, gals like that, I knew a girl in Brooklyn who dated one of Meyer Lansky's friends because of that."

"Hey. Steve. Stop now. You're just digging yourself deeper," Tony said, watching Darcy's face turn a mottled red. "Too late, you're fucked, been nice knowing you."

"First," Darcy hissed, "you're not my dad, my grandpa, my brother, or even my cousin. And even if you were, you still wouldn't have the right to tell me who I can date, fuck, kiss, make out with or go down on. You got that, Rogers?" 

"I'm just --"

"Second," she interrupted him, poking him with her fingernail, "if you wanted a fucking date, you've seen me every day for the last year, you could have asked any time. I might have said yes. I might not have. I never really thought about it, because," she poked in time with her next few words, "you. Never. Asked."

"Do you think that's all this is? Me being jealous? I'm just concerned because he's a dictatorial super villain and you're a civilian member of the support team. I'm concerned what kind of information he might be able to get out of you. I'm concerned about the safety of the team, and your safety."

"You were scared to ask," she said, shaking her head. "And now you're jealous because someone else did. Someone you don't approve of. Someone you think isn't good for me. And you're using the other as a cover." She stepped away from him, still shaking her head. "We're done, Steve. If I keep talking, we won't be friends anymore." She reached for her blanket, folded it over her arm, and walked out, strangely dignified for someone wearing footie pajamas.

"Tony -" Steve began, but Tony shook his head, standing up.

"You fucked up, Rogers. You fucked up hard." He walked out as well, heading for his workshop. Once there, he called Pepper. "Pepper. Go check on Darcy, would you?"

"What's wrong?"

"Steve said some shit about her and Doom. I probably didn't help."

"Tony..." Pepper sighed, and he quickly defended himself.

"All I said was that Rogers was jealous."

"Okay," Pepper replied. "I'll check in with her."

"Take her shopping. Do something."

"And what will you be doing?"

"I'm gonna find something to work on, or else I'm gonna punch Rogers myself. It wasn't pretty, Pep."

"Okay."

 

Darcy stomped through her apartment, seething. He wasn't even her boyfriend. One date. One. She'd expected a lecture, she'd expected a quiet conversation between friends, she'd expected better. Instead, Captain Motherfucking America had given her the equivalent of the "nice guy" speech. "Bastard," she muttered, flopping into the overstuffed ugly chair she’d thrifted, shaking her head. Jealous. He was jealous. "Fucker should have said something," she sighed at the ceiling. "He should have. He should have said something." She closed her eyes, tried to calm her breathing. "Fucker."

A knock at the door jarred her out of her reverie. "Who is it?"

"Pepper." 

"Let her in, FRIDAY." The door clicked open, and Pepper slipped in, closing the door firmly behind her before kneeling in front of Darcy, smiling gently.

"You okay?"

"Yep. Peachy keen." Darcy bared her teeth. It wasn't a smile.

"Tony told me."

"Figured."

"You knew not everyone would approve."

"I knew he wouldn't," Darcy said, sitting up, leaning forward. "But trying to hide his jealousy behind concern for the team is bullshit."

"True. And you did the right thing, walking away."

"I'm a grownup," Darcy nodded. "I didn't slap him. Even when he intimated I don't know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

"No. But does anybody, when it comes to dating?"

"Good point," Pepper agreed. "Want to go shopping? We'll get something lovely and elegant for the next time you see Victor. Tony’s dime."

"Yes," Darcy agreed. "Something in green."

 

The reinforced heavy bag shook with every punch, Steve's labored breathing echoing in his ears as he poured his frustrations into physical activity. "Hey," he heard from behind him, and turned to see Sam standing there, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Bad day?" 

One last punch. "Darcy's dating Doom." Sam tossed him a towel, and he wiped the sweat from his face. "I...didn't handle it well."

"You didn't see the chemistry between them the other night after the fight at the pool?" Sam asked, and Steve looked away. "You did."

"He's a dictator, Sam. Rules his country with an iron fist, what would he do with a swell dame like Darcy?" Steve crossed to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, drank it down in a few gulps, took out another and drank half of that.

"He seemed okay the other night," Sam began. "Isn't he changing stuff in Latveria? Moving toward democracy?"

"So he says," Steve snapped. "I've got legitimate concerns, Sam. Sure, he's saying all the right things right now, but what if he's not playing straight? Heck, how long until he gets a wild hair to go after Sue Richards again? At best, Darcy's a distraction to a guy like him. And I don't want to see her hurt."

"Wow." Sam shook his head in disbelief. "Let's start with why you're so upset over this."

"She's a member of the support team. She lives here. She's got a lot of info that Doom could use against us," Steve said, keeping his gaze on the bottle in his hand.

"Nothing to do with the way you watch her sometimes," Sam said dryly. "Nope, you're not jealous."

"My personal feelings aren't involved," Steve snapped. "This is purely about the team and about her value to it. Do you think I don't know that everyone seems to see her as a sort of baby cousin or baby sister? She charms Tony, she soothes Natasha and Clint, she does Wanda's hair --"

"She does Bruce's dictation, she is literally Thor's adopted sister, and she plays video games with me and Clint," Sam finished. "She set up movie night for you, and she's teaching Vision how to knit, getting him used to tactile sensations and how to gauge his strength. Yeah, Steve. We all love her in our way. But you notice nobody else is freaking out because she had a date with Doom."

"Natasha knew. Natasha helped her get ready," Steve said, shaking his head. "I don't understand how she of all people isn't seeing this as --"

"Natasha isn't interested in her," Sam said flatly. "You are. And you're jealous, and you're angry with yourself because you think you waited too long." Steve's jaw jutted out, but he stayed quiet. "Darcy likes you. But Steve, as hard as it is for you to hear, she doesn’t like you like that." 

“She doesn’t have to, I’m not standing here saying she has to, I just -- he’s not -- he’s not right for her. He’s not,” Steve insisted, and Sam shrugged.

“Here’s the thing, Steve. You’re a hero, you’re an all around good guy, but you can’t see the future. You don’t know that. You don’t know that he’s not gonna be good to her. You don’t know how this is going to end, if it’s going to end. She might break up with him. She might marry his ass. We don’t know, and you know what? That’s not on us,” Sam pointed out, half-smiling. “It’s not on us, man. She’s a grown-ass woman, okay. She’ll make her own choices. And she might end up with a broken heart, but you know what? Those heal. If he goes chasing after Sue Richards again, I don’t have any doubt but what Darcy will get ‘Tasha or Clint to fly her to Latveria, she’ll tell him off to his face and come home and eat ice cream and get over it. She’s a grownup.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a security concern,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s still an unknown at this time. Okay, I can’t say he’s an enemy, I can say I don’t know him, and based on his past, I don’t trust him.”

“Nobody says you have to. You just have to trust Darcy.” Sam clapped Steve on the arm. “Come on. Let’s go get a shake.” Slowly, Steve nodded and headed to the locker room.

 

 

DOOMBOT BRIGADE 1328 ONLINE.  
…..WORKING….  
UPDATE DOWNLOADED. PLEASE STAND BY FOR INSTALLATION.  
…WORKING….  
INSTALLATION COMPLETE. ORDERS WITHIN PARAMETERS. ACCEPTED.

The line of sleek metal war machines spread out, a faint blue glow about them as they began to advance toward the enemy’s position, the Ukrainian general watching from behind the lines via satellite feed. The once serene field echoed with gunfire within seconds, the Soviet forces opening up on the advancing robots, their green and chrome metallic bodies slender, but still making fantastic targets. Nothing happened. The machine gun fire didn’t slow them, didn’t stop them. An artillery shell’s whine was heard, then the explosion seen, driving up dirt, grass, debris. The line didn’t stop, simply walking through the crater left by the shelling, relentlessly moving forward.  
“Advance behind the ‘bots,” the general ordered. “Slowly. Artillery, take their bearings and the force field into consideration as you figure trajectory.” The Ukrainian forces fell in behind their robotic allies, the infantry nervously looking around, wincing at the sound of gunfire ahead of them, weapons at the ready. The artillery boomed behind them, arcing up and well over the Doombots at targets beyond them. 

APPROACHING OPTIMAL RANGE. WEAPONS CHARGED. ENGAGE ENEMY?

The general tapped “yes” on his tablet.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. ENGAGING ENEMY COMBATANTS.

Five thousand rifles rose in steel hands. Five thousand visual sensors found targets. Five thousand laser rifles began to fire as the Doombots kept walking. 

WOUNDED ENEMY COMBATANTS. CAPTURE YES/NO?

The general swallowed, tapping yes.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. DISENGAGING 100 UNITS FOR CAPTURE/CONTAINMENT. FIELD AID YES/NO?

Yes again.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. ENEMY COMBATANTS RETREATING/RETRENCHING. PURSUE YES/NO?

No. The orders were clear; let the first few skirmishes retreat and send word back in hopes that the Soviet would realize they no longer held the upper hand, and would sue for peace.

COMMAND ACCEPTED. WARNING. WARNING. AIR STRIKE APPROACHING, APPROXIMATELY TWO MINUTES UNTIL ARRIVAL. ENGAGE FLIGHT CAPACITY YES/NO?

Yes.

A third of the brigade stopped in their tracks, their legs locking together, slowly rising into the air until they reached about fifty feet off the ground, then cutting through the sky as easily and as quickly as a bird, heading toward the approaching bombers and jets.

“Jesus Christ,” the general’s aide muttered, watching as the Doombots dealt out death, seemingly unstoppable. “Thank fuck he’s on our side. How many of these do you think he has?”

“What, robots or brigades of robots?” The general muttered. “Who knows?” The aide shook her head, eyes glued to the screens.

“Thanks so much for making me feel better.”

“I’m not trying. Doom is a genius. And just think, these are only the field troops. Have you seen the elite forces?”

“No. Do I want to?” She asked. In response, the general slid his tablet page over two pages.

“The elite forces are carbon copies of Doom’s armor,” he began, holding out the tablet so she could see. “Robotic, so they have none of his special talents, but they are capable of independent thought, they don’t rely solely on orders. They command his field forces in Latveria, and it’s said they have more abilities than the ground pounders.”

“Dear God.” She shook her head. “Attacking Latveria --“

“Would be, is folly. No one knows how many of these he has, no one knows how many of the field troops he has. All of that is secret. Not to mention the force field generators throughout the country.”

“Again. Thank God he’s on our side.”

 

Victor smiled to himself, watching through the cameras in the visual sensors of the ground troops as they engaged the Soviet throughout Ukraine, looking for weaknesses, areas to improve. There was always room for improvement. “Status report.”

FORCE FIELDS HOLDING. BATTERY CAPABILITY RANGING FROM 80 TO 95 PERCENT.

“Current losses?”

CURRENT LOSSES AT LESS THAN THREE PERCENT, was the answer from one of the Doppelganger Doombots.

“Excellent. What caused those?”

WIRING DISLODGED DUE TO SHOCK FROM ARTILLERY/BOMBING, FAULTY BATTERY, FAULTY SERVO GEARS IN JOINT AREAS. 

“Have the faulty units returned to the technicians,” he ordered. “Delegate two units per compromised unit for recovery and return operations.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS, the Doppelganger unit bowed its head. 

“What is the situation in Poland?”

ALL DOOMBOTS ARE IN POSITION FOR INTERCEPTION. NEW PROGRAMMING HAS BEEN DOWNLOADED, INSTALLED, UPDATED. AWAITING ENEMY COMBATANTS.

“Excellent. Continue current operational plans.”

 

The Ukrainian commanders were effusive in their praise. The casualty rate had been cut by eighty percent, every skirmish had ended with the Russian forces being forced into retreat, and they had taken back a full twenty miles of front. “It’s a slow process,” one of them said with a shrug. “And this is open terrain; I’m not looking forward to clearing cities, even with your ‘bots, Lord Doom. If you’ll forgive my plain speech,” the man added, looking a little chagrined as he remembered his manners.

“Good soldiers speak plainly,” Victor replied, nodding. “Taking cities is always a difficult endeavor, major, especially when civilians are at risk, and provocateurs are easily hidden.”

“We’ll work out the strategy,” one of the other commanders said. “One of the main issues is sniper fire. They won’t hurt the ‘bots, of course, but the men coming in behind them.”

“The Doombots are fully capable of flushing out sniper nests by tracing the line of fire,” Victor informed them. “And then flushing out the nests.”

“We’ll work it out,” the commander repeated, though he was jotting that down. “But so far, Lord Doom, your aid has been invaluable.” 

“Better to put out my neighbor’s fire than to wait until my own wagon catches,” Victor paraphrased one of his people’s sayings. “My only regret is that it took so long.”

“The past is past, let it stay there,” another interjected, shrugging his shoulders, and they went on to discuss their next strategies.

When the teleconference was finished, he studied the battlefield, gauged the response of the New Soviet, and called for one of the Doppelganger units. “I must be away for a few hours,” he said. “Inform me immediately if anything changes.”

YES, LORD DOOM.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, M'sieur LeBeau. Ca va?

"Miss Lewis," FRIDAY's voice came over the speakers. "Your presence is requested on the common level."

"Hmm?" Darcy looked up from her knitting. The red and gray fingerless gloves for Sam were coming along nicely. "What's up, FRIDAY?"

"Your presence is desired on the common level."

"It's not Steve, is it?"

"No, Miss Lewis."

"Okay then." She tucked her knitting into its bag, slid her bare feet into her sandals, and headed upstairs. Probably Tony wanted her to bake something. She exited the elevator, followed the sound of voices through the media room into the kitchen, and gasped, stopping in the doorway and dropping her knitting bag. "Victor!"

He turned from Clint and Pepper to face her, his posture...uncertain. "Darcy." She crossed the room to stand in front of him, looking up into his eyes.

"Can I have a hug?" In answer, his arms swept around her, pulling her tight to him. "I'm so glad you're here," she said, her voice slightly muffled by the cloth of his tunic.

"I'm sorry I had to leave," he murmured. "So sorry I could not say goodbye properly."

"Yeah, well. Your country comes first. It should always come first." She lifted her head to look up at him again. "How long can you stay?"

"Only a few hours, unfortunately," he told her. "War does not wait for courtesy."

"Yeah. I get that." She squeezed once more before stepping backwards, letting him catch her hand. "Do you have plans?"

"No. I wanted only to see you, I made no plans."

"Awesome. Then we can hang out and you can tell me things I don't know about." Eating was out, because of his mask, but they could still get to know each other.

"Such as?"

"Your favorite things? Shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings?" She offered, and he chuckled. "No, but seriously. Tell me about Latveria. I've never been."

"It would be surprising if you had," he replied, a little sadly if she wasn't mistaken. "I have not always been welcoming of strangers traipsing through my homeland."

"Let me get my knitting, then, and you can tell me about it. Is it pretty?”

“There are areas of such beauty, it would break your heart,” he said as she picked up her bag from the doorway, gesturing for him to follow her into the media room. “You knit?”

“I do. I’m very proud of my knitting,” she said with a grin, plopping down onto the couch, bringing her feet up under her and taking the glove she was working on out, as well as its mate. “These are for Sam.” She held out the finished one, and he took it, looking it over carefully.

“There is a tradition, among my mother’s people,” he said softly. “A knitting technique that is taught from mother to daughter for their wedding capes.”

“Oh?” Darcy looked up as he took a seat beside her. “Your mother’s people? I don’t follow exactly.”

“Mother was one of the Romani,” he told her. “I am but half blooded.”

“Is that -- you have to tell me if I get too nosy, I’m horrible about being nosy,” she said, her needles beginning to move, “everyone tells me so. But is that why you can do magic?”

“Anyone with the proper willpower and study can perform magic. It is an ability inherent within every sentient being. I admit that my mother’s bloodline is, perhaps, more adept than most, but it is fully possible for anyone.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.” Glancing up, she noted that he seemed…uncomfortable. Sitting too straight, his posture too perfect. “So wedding capes?”

“Yes. A hooded cape, usually begun by the mother the day after the birth of their daughter. I do not know it; it is a woman’s tradition.”

“I’ll have to see if there’s anything about it on the internet, it sounds cool,” she offered. “Would you like a drink? Coffee, tea?”

“Tea would be welcome.”

“Green or black?”

“Black,” he replied, and Darcy grinned.

“Pepper?” She called. “Since you’re still in the kitchen, would you?”

“I’m already putting the kettle on,” came the answer. “Sugar or honey?” Darcy raised her eyebrows at him.

“Honey. And thank you, Madam Potts.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“So but you were going to tell me about Latveria,” Darcy said, and he nodded.

“There is a pool in the mountains,” he began. “Snowmelt trickles down year round, and the pool is so pure, so clear, that one can see the bottom, a hundred feet down. It is a geyser, and were it not for the snowmelt, it would boil the flesh from one’s bones at a touch; the snowmelt keeps it as a hot bath, however, for the first few feet. And all around it, due to the geyser, it is verdant, even in the depths of winter.”

“In the midst of death, we are in life?” Darcy said, and he chuckled, nodding again.

“Something like that. I find it enchanting.”

“It sounds beautiful,” she said. 

“It is. I have not been in many years, but it is remote enough I am sure it has not changed,” he said softly. “I would be glad to take you there sometime. There are many places in Latveria that are still untouched by man; I would keep it that way if I can.” Darcy looked up again; he seemed a little more relaxed, not that it was easy to tell with his armor in the way. “But how have you been? I did not call this afternoon, I was otherwise engaged.”

“I’ve been okay,” she shrugged. “Went through a lot of resumes this week, probably going to start hiring my new team next week. Went shopping with Pepper yesterday. And I saw what you were up to this afternoon, I forgive you for not calling,” she grinned. “Those things are amazing, Victor.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t see his expression, of course, but he sounded as if he were preening. Smiling, certainly.

“BBC News got an excellent shot of some of the robots taking out the air strike,” she said. “Amazing.”

“Latveria is a small country,” he said. “We have ever been too close to the Soviet bloc for my comfort, and yet our size made it impossible to afford the loss of industry that a standing army of men would require. So our army is constructed of steel rather than flesh.”

“You had to think outside the box, and you did a heck of a job,” she said as Pepper brought in a tea tray, fragrant steam wisping up from the delicate china teapot. “Oh, Pep, you shouldn’t have, I would have come to get it.”

“No trouble,” Pepper said, smiling. “I’ll try to keep everyone from crashing the scene, but no promises, you know what it’s like.”

“Too well,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes as she sat up to pour. “Especially since Bruce came home last night.”

“Dr. Banner is in residence?” Victor asked, and she nodded.

“He’s been out of town for a few months, he does charity work for Doctors Without Borders,” Pepper explained. “He’s been in Myanmar since May, he just got back last night. He’s probably still asleep.”

“And Jane is supposed to come home next week,” Darcy added. 

“Are she and King Thor still seeing one another?” Victor asked, nodding politely as he took the cup and saucer from Darcy.

“No. They haven’t been a thing for a while now, and honestly? It’s better that way. Jane’s awesome and I love her but she would be a shit queen. I don’t think Thor’s dating right now, honestly, but when he does, he needs to choose someone whose passions are more aligned to Asgard’s needs. Especially now.” Darcy sipped her tea. “And Jane’s heart is in the stars, not politics, or the people that the politics will affect. Not that she’s not nice, she is, but she doesn’t see the big picture. And she’s too easily distracted by the work she does love.”

“She has her passions, and they are not what are needed in a consort. She is a talented, intelligent scientist, however. I respect her work greatly.”

“Oh, good, you understand it,” Darcy sighed, smiling. “I sort of get the easier bits.”

“Do not undersell yourself; you were her aide for years, you likely understand more than you think you do,” he replied. Clapping echoed from behind him, and they both turned around to see Tony leaning on the doorway that led to the hall.

“I’ve been telling Artoo that for a long time, maybe she’ll listen to you. How’s tricks, Vic? Kicking Putin’s bear-riding ass, right?”

“Vladimir has no more ridden a bear than I have a unicorn,” Victor snarked. “He is not a coward, I give him that, but that is all the credit I am willing to spare for him.”

“He’s a dick,” Tony shrugged. “Things still okay back home, though? Like I said the other day, I’m more than willing to suit up and lend a hand.” Darcy frowned. The other day? 

“So far, the skirmishes have been fruitful. As I replied then, should my allies and I find ourselves in deep water, I will ask. I do not wish to drag the Avengers, or even Iron Man, into a geopolitical nightmare that Miss Lewis and Miss Potts would have to dig you out of.”

“Cool. When should we expect the Cajun, then?” Tony asked, and now Darcy sat back, looking between the two men.

“Gambit? Gambit’s coming?”

“Yeah, he --“ Tony stopped in mid-sentence. “You haven’t told her.”

“Haven’t told me what?” Darcy asked. “Victor?” He was quiet for several seconds, then sighed.

“I came tonight because I wished to see you,” he began. “And part of the reason I wished to see you was to explain that I have hired Gambit to act as your bodyguard.” Darcy blinked, speechless. “You had already agreed to calling the embassy for extra security; in this way, I will not be concerned about more powerful entities attempting to capture you.”

“I live with the Avengers, Victor,” Darcy said, and he nodded.

“So you do. But they are not always available, and since any new threats to you would be due to our…” he hesitated. “To the attentions I have paid to you, it is only right that I see to your security. And to answer your question, Stark, sometime this week. He had things to clear up in Quebec first.”

“Great. I’ll, um, leave you two alone then,” Tony said, backing toward the door. 

“We’ll chat later,” Darcy said smiling, and Tony launched himself out of the room before she turned her attention back to the man beside her. “I appreciate your concerns, Victor. I do. And I’m not angry with you over it. But I wish you had asked first.”

“Two words, Darcy; Crimson Dynamos,” he said briskly.

“Yeah, no, I get it, I do get it,” she sighed. “I do. I just wish you had talked to me about it first. What if I had issues with Remy? I don’t, but I could have. What if another member of the team did? They don’t, but they could have.” She set her now cool tea on the table, and turned to face him fully. “I’m not angry. I understand your concerns, and they’re valid, they’re completely valid. But you should have talked to me about it first, and you can’t say you didn’t have a chance to; we’ve spoken several times since you left.”

She watched his shoulders rise and fall, saw how he turned his face away from her for a few seconds, before he nodded, slowly. “You are correct,” he said. “I should have. I make no excuses.”

“Okay then. Next time, ask. Now.” She held out her hand. “Want to see something cool?”

“I am not sure I will be allowed off of this floor.” 

“You’re with me. It’ll be okay,” she assured him, and he took her hand, the metal chilly in her fingers. She led him to the elevator, waited for the door to close. “Lab floor three, please.”

“Now I am sure --“

“You’re with me,” she interrupted him, moving closer. “Trust me. Nothing I’m going to show you is off limits.” He had gone stiff again, and she delicately laid one hand on his chest. “If it would make you feel better, I can call Tony, but I want some time alone with you, and if I call Tony, he’ll want to join us. Because he’s five, and he can’t keep from showing off his toys to impress his new friend.”

“Are you not doing the same?” A hint of amusement in his eyes and voice as his hand came up to cover hers.

“No. It’s just a kick ass excuse to get you all for myself.” The elevator doors opened, and she led the way to a nondescript white door, opening it with her palm. Four inclined padded benches stood in the center of the white room, and she laid down on one, waited for him to do the same. “Initiate program StarScape, Butterfly Nebula,” she said, and the room darkened, the ceiling changing into the most immaculate view of the space phenomenon available. Clouds of pink, purple, and amber radiated out of a pure white flash, other stars barely visible against it, and she heard him gasp.

“When Jane gets flustered,” Darcy said softly, “we come here and we do this. Choose a constellation. Choose a galaxy. If it’s been mapped, if it’s visible from Earth at all, we have it. Real time, even.”

“Ingenious,” he said in the same reverent tone she had used. “But there is a beauty to compare to it beside me.” She giggled, sitting up on her bench.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Not flattery. You are beautiful, Darcy, inside and out, from all that I have observed.” He sat up too. “Were this a film, or a novel, I would sweep my mask away and reveal a face only lightly marred, and I would kiss you senseless right now.”

“But it’s not,” she said softly.

“No. It is not.” He looked up again, and was quiet for a few moments. “Do you know how I became scarred? How I became Doctor Doom, scourge of nations?”

“I don’t know your side,” she said. “I know what I’ve been told.” 

“Not tonight,” he said after a moment. “I will not mar this evening with old trauma.” He looked at her, the slowly shifting light of the nebula above them glinting off his mask, his eyes shadowed in the dark. “You deserve better. You deserve a man who has no scars to fear. A man who can kiss you at his leisure, your lips were made for kisses, your body for worship. And I can do neither. Not now.”

“I deserve what I think I deserve,” Darcy countered. “I deserve what I want to deserve. So you’re work. I think getting to know you, to know who Victor is, is worth the work.” He didn’t say anything to that, only kept looking at her. “Let me ask you this. Do you want to keep seeing each other?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I want that too. Second question; someday. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not next week, not next month, even. But someday, do you think you could do as you just said? In private?”

“I…don’t…I don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely. “And that is unfair --“

“I decide what’s fair for me, Victor. Not you,” she interrupted him. “I want to see where we go. I want to see where this leads us. I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much for me, if I decide I want more than you can give. But so far, we’re good, if you want to be.” He was still for several seconds more after she finished, then carefully, he raised his hands, peeling off first one glove, then the other, and held both hands out to her. She took them, and let him pull her to him.

“You are effervescent,” he murmured. “Exquisite. And I wish I were a braver man.”

“You’re fine. I’m fine with this,” she replied. “You’re already bending more than you do with anyone else.”

“So I am,” he agreed. “Do you forgive my concern for your safety?”

“I do.”

“And…” he paused. “And my insecurity regarding…” he let the sentence trail away, but Darcy caught his drift.

“I do.”

“Thank you.” He let go of her right hand, reaching with his left to trace her features, his fingers barely brushing over her cheekbone, down her jawline, gently lifting a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “So soft, little star.”

“Little star?”

“Little star,” he said again. “Malysh svezda, in my language. You shine, bright and fierce.” He raised her other hand to the lips of his mask, and she felt the warmth of his breath on her fingers. “Would that I were a braver man,” he murmured again. 

“You’re okay. We’re okay.” She kissed her fingertips, laid them to the lips of his mask as she had done at the end of their date. “We’re okay.”

 

Remy LeBeau grinned to himself, standing in the lobby of Avengers Tower. A free apartment, a very good paying job guarding a lovely lady…”You done fell into high cotton again, Remy,” he murmured to himself, and advanced toward the lobby desk. “Bonjour, cher. Remy LeBeau, I am here to see Darcy Lewis?”

The pretty little blonde behind the desk looked up with a smile that was too practiced to be real. “One moment, sir.” She picked up the phone. “Miss Lewis? There’s a Mr. LeBeau at the front desk for you. No; well, two duffels. Of course. Yes, ma’am.” She hung up and gave him the slick smile again. “If you’ll have a seat, Mr. LeBeau, Ms. Lewis will be with you momentarily.”

“Merci, cher,” he grinned, drawing himself up to his full height. “I sincerely hope you have a wonderful day, Bonnie.”

“Oh. Thank you.” That had taken her aback, a little bit. Well, at least his charm had not entirely deserted him. Her smile was a tiny bit more genuine as he took a seat near the glassed in atrium, duffels at his feet. He used the glass as a mirror to watch the door behind him, looking meanwhile for all the world as if he were observing the tropical birds in the enclosure. He wasn’t waiting long, perhaps ten minutes, before the click-click of good heels sounded to his right.

“M’sieur LeBeau. Ca va?”

“It goes,” he said, turning his head and looking over his new charge. Darcy Anna Lewis. Five feet three, brunette with auburn highlights, creamy complexion, heart shaped face with brown eyes made large behind the frames of her glasses. The powder blue suit was vintage, ‘60s if he wasn’t mistaken; she thrifted. The line of her body was an almost perfect hourglass, and he needed to stop this moment. She was Doom’s lady, and while Remy was no coward, he was also no fool. “M’selle Lewis?”

“Yep. I’m Darcy,” she said, holding out her hand. “We have mutual friends, I think? Clint?”

“Whatever he has told you about me, cher, I promise he lied.” He stood, taking her hand and shaking it rather than kissing the back. Client, he reminded himself sharply. Doom would turn him inside out and pour vinegar on his exposed nerves. Or acid. 

“He said, and I quote, you’ll like him, Darce, he’s long and tall and made out of sex,” she said frankly, and Remy couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“And do you?”

“Like you? I just met you. But Clint was right on those counts, anyway.” She flashed a smile, and if her other, obvious assets hadn’t clued him in on why Doom was so adamant about keeping her safe, her humor and smile would have. Man would do a lot for a smile like that. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you up to your new digs, Mr. LeBeau.”

“Remy, cher. We gonna be working together a while, first names are easier, yes?”

“Yes, they are,” Darcy agreed before leading him back over to the front desk. “Hi, Bonnie. I’m going to need a temporary residential pass for Mr. LeBeau. Would you be so kind as to call Happy and let him know?”

“Sure,” Bonnie agreed, nodding. “Which floor?”

“117th. Thanks so much.”

“Oh, he’s not an Avenger?” Bonnie asked, and Darcy shook her head.

“No. He’s temporary extra security.”

“Oh.” Bonnie glanced up through her eyelashes. “Well.” Remy caught the gist; she had thought he was a new Avenger, and if not that, then Darcy’s man. He would be so very happy to help disabuse her of that notion; the lady was lovely, after all.  
He followed her to an elevator set off in an alcove, off the beaten path, watched as the door opened before they even got to it. They stepped in, and she pushed the button. “So you used to work with Xavier?” She asked, and he nodded. “Cool. I’ve met Ororo and Logan.”

“Both of them good people,” Remy allowed. 

“Have you been freelancing long?”

“A year or so.”

“Ever act as a bodyguard before?”

“Yes.”

“Ever act as a bodyguard at official functions before? I have to socialize with some of the highest politicians in the world, Remy.”

“A time or two. I won’t embarrass you, Darcy.” 

“Okay. Victor trusts you,” she shrugged. “Or else he wouldn’t have hired you.”

“Trust me, petit, there’s very few better.”

“You’ve certainly got the attitude for it,” she grinned. “It’s all good. Here we are.” The doors opened, and she led him down the hall to an unmarked door. “It’s all yours. Make a grocery list, leave it on the counter, it’ll get delivered. You’re off duty tonight, but I have a function day after tomorrow at the Australian Embassy. Afternoon tea. You can get by in just a suit, since it’s a daytime function, but I hope you have a tux for the formals.” She handed him a key card, and he slid it in the slot, opening the door.  
He liked the open floor plan, the thick carpet. The furniture was good quality, he highly approved of the television on the wall. “If you want to hook up a game system, call maintenance,” Darcy said as he prowled through the living room. “Really, I’m serious, call maintenance. I had to, and I’m an old hand at it.” He nodded, not really listening; he wasn’t much of one for video games. “Two bedrooms, you’ve got access to the communal stuff, that’s all two floors up except the gym, which is in subbasement three. I would honestly suggest you not go prowling on 118.”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s the Avengers and their significant others’ floor, well, except Tony, he’s in the penthouse, which is above that. Mondays are movie nights.”

“And what floor do you work on?” He asked, turning around from the kitchen doorway.

“One eleven, political team is sharing right now with legal but Tony’s making noise about moving us down one floor once my team is complete. Probably another four weeks before that happens,” she offered. “You shouldn’t need to be in my office.”

“I am to guard you; is there a lobby for me to wait?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “There is.”

“You don’t want me to,” he said, watching her body posture slump, and she gave him a wry grin.

“I don’t want you to,” she agreed. “Because that leads to interesting questions as to how I got my job. And I got my job before Victor and I started dating, thanks. I know you have to do your job, and I promise not to make it hard. I just…”

“No. You got your job on your merits, not because you were shining his armor, so to speak, and you don’t want some office busybody thinkin’ different. I understand.” She rolled her eyes at his euphemism, but nodded. “You don’t leave the tower without me.”

“No. I won’t. You or an Avenger,” she clarified. “Because I don’t see bringing you along when ‘Tasha and I have spa days.”

“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting such things. But you don’t leave by yourself.”

“No. Victor hired you for a reason, and it’s a valid one.”

“No complaining that you are a woman grown and do not need a keeper?” He grinned, and she shook her head.

“The first time Victor and I had a real conversation,” she began, “we were interrupted by three Crimson Dynamos. You know what those are.”

“I do.” Doom had told him, but he settled on the couch to listen to Darcy, just the same. 

“He took out two practically by himself. Our first date was the next night, and then the stuff in the Ukraine happened. I know there’s a possibility I could be a target, Remy. Here’s the thing; I like breathing, and I like dating Victor. I get the feeling that if he hadn’t hired you, he’d be doing the self-sacrificing “I must end this before it truly starts” thing in order to “keep me safe,” she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “I don’t want that to happen. So I’ll listen to you, and I won’t try to duck out on you. Fair?”

“Completely.” More than. When he had seen how young she was, he had expected a great deal of trouble, to be honest.

“Good. Get settled in. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

“One minute. Give me your phone.” She smacked her head, nodding, before taking her phone from her breast pocket and handing it to him. He programmed his number in it under G for Gambit, handed it back. “Now we are done for the evening. If you see Clint, tell him I’m here? I would love to win some of his money.”

“You got it,” she grinned. “Bye.” She slipped back out his door, and he kicked off his boots, laid back on the couch and grinned before sending a text. 

“Sir. In position. Miss Lewis seems to have a good head on her shoulders, shouldn’t be any problem working with her. She spoke real high of you, too. G” The answer wasn’t long in coming.

“Thank you, Mr. LeBeau.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one for today (2/3/18)  
> This is as far as I've gotten, but feel no fret; the story winds on along in my mind.  
> Weekly updates, barring work stuff.  
> ~Marbles

Smoke poured from the small, half-open window of the room where a dozen men, faces lined with war and worry, gathered to discuss the current situation in Ukraine. Harsh words were exchanged as the generals disagreed how to combat the new troops, reports of force fields met with disbelieving sneers, laser rifles with snorts, until at last one man, balding blond with pale blue eyes, dropped his hands from where they had been steepled over his chest and stood from his chair. All voices stopped then in mid-sentence, all eyes looking to him.

“The reports from our technology experts all say the same thing,” he tapped a folder before him. “We have captured exactly three of the constructs. We attempted a dozen. The other nine self-destructed, killing eighteen, crippling twenty-two in total. We are reverse engineering them as quickly as we can, but are hampered by the inability to bring them online. We cannot attempt to power them up, because we expect that if they come online, they too will self-destruct. However, what we have found is interesting. Power cells that are linked to a generator of some sort of sub-atomic dissonance. This is what we believe creates the barrier that keeps our bullets from affecting the robots.” He paused, picking up the folder and flipping to a page.  


“The rifles also have a tiny generator within them that creates a light, focused to what the scientists believe should be an impossible degree, superheated and able to cut through inches of plate metal, as we can see in the photos of the tanks, planes, and armored personnel carriers that have been destroyed. The robots have specific targets programmed for each model and make of our forces, as well as our body armor; the lasers cut through them effortlessly.” He dropped the folder onto the table. “We have two choices. Retreat and sue for peace, and hope that Latveria stops at the borders of Ukraine, and withdraw our troops from their positions in Belarus, as Latverian forces have been seen on the borders of Poland; or summon the forces that currently sleep, waiting to be called to service for our homeland.”

All eyes turned to two people, both sitting at the end of the right side of the table. They had been silent throughout the arguments, and now they looked at one another. One wore a slightly rumpled business suit, an Armani knockoff. The other was dressed as a major-general in the New Soviet army, and she was who stood, saluting. 

“Major-General Kailovna,” the blond man said, nodding to her and taking his seat again.

“Mr. President. Esteemed generals,” she began. “I must, in the interest of national security, advise against the release of the Omega project. Its instability is a massive concern, not only because its ability to comprehend and obey orders is unpredictable at the best of times, but also because the threat of plague and radiation poisoning to the general public and to our soldiers should we lose control of the Omega Project, which is possible.”

“What of the other units? The Red Guardians, the other Dynamos?” The blond man asked.

“Neither of those units are under my purview, sir.” She looked down, and her companion rose, handing out folders as she handed the president the folder under her own hand. “While I cannot recommend the use of the Omega Project at this time, we have other options.” For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was that of flipping pages, rustling papers. No one gasped at the photographs; all of the people within the chamber were well versed in horror. She waited, eyes downcast, to be spoken to once more.

“Strigoi,” the blond man said after a few seconds. “Explain the Strigoi Project.”

“The Strigoi Project consists of six paired individuals, male to female,” she began. “One of each pair controls what are commonly called “living striga” powers, the other “dead striga” powers. Living striga powers encompass weather manipulation, specifically thunderstorms, hail, and ice storms. Dead striga powers include biological and psychological weaponry. In both instances, their strength and speed are greatly enhanced beyond normal human capabilities.”

“And how would you use these against the robot army?” General Jurczk asked. “They cannot be turned away by illusions, or affected by biological warfare.”

“They must have technicians,” she began. “If the robots carry the germs back to their handlers, they may be affected; if they are affected, they may spread the disease among the other living members of the armies before they realize they are ill. More, they will have to be replaced. That will take time, perhaps not long, but a day or two, certainly. Too, Doom cannot possibly have enough handlers to keep replacing them indefinitely.”

“How is it that you have not been able to control the Omega Project, yet you are so confident about the control of the Strigoi Project?” Another man in a suit asked.

“They are mated pairs,” she said, meeting his gaze easily. “One half is active in the day, and the mate remains in our custody. The other half is active in the night, and the daylight mate is in custody. They know that we will not hesitate to end the mate.”  
“Emotional blackmail. Hostages,” another man muttered, and she nodded, her face kept carefully blank.

“It is necessary. And there is precedent.” Her voice was even, her words measured, careful. “I will not pretend they are not dangerous, but they are a danger that can be controlled.”

“And you believe they can break the front line?” The blond man said lowly.

“No; but I believe they can make a difference, and create chaos among the living forces. To break the lines, I recommend Medved. Page twelve.” The Strigoi had been outlined on page eight. She waited for them to turn to the correct page, waited for them to read the outline of the Medved Corps’ abilities. She saw the smirk tugging at the corner of the president’s lips, she could see the tiny quirk of disgust on the face of the FSB man. The FSB did not care to use enhanced or mutant operatives. That was their issue, not hers. 

“There is a video?” One of the other generals asked, General Smirnov. 

“There is,” she agreed, and her assistant nodded to the technician beside the door. A monitor on the wall flickered to life, and a video of several men and women, tall and burly, began to play. They were all dressed in black tactical gear, running through a forest ; none of them showed any distress as they made their way across the practice area, running between the trees, silent death, until all five of them came to a tree. They circled it, sniffing the air, sniffing the trunk of the tree, and the camera panned up to show a man halfway up the trunk, well out of reach.

“He was given twenty minutes head start,” she explained as several of the hunters began to push at the tree, the others spreading out in a semi-circle around it. “Told that if he could outrun them, he would be given his freedom.”

“Who was he?” Came the growled question.

“A murderer. A volunteer to the program, but his psychological profile showed he would not be a good fit. So we use him for testing instead.” The tree fell, the trunk cracking silently, they had not turned on the sound. The hunters began to encircle the prey, then fell writhing to the ground as the Skrytyy Spetznatz Force surrounded them, reclaiming the prey subject for future use and allowing the hunters to rise, covered not just by machine guns but flamethrowers. 

“Fast and strong,” the president nodded. “How many of the Medved Corps are available?”

“Three hundred. By my estimation, they should be able to tear the robots apart.”

“What of the force field?” The FSB man challenged her. “Can they break through it?”

“I do not know. Nor do they have to, not if we can flank them.”

“We will consider,” the president said coolly. “And take your concerns into consideration. Thank you, Major-General Kailovna.” She saluted again and took her seat, listening and taking notes as the meeting went on. Overall, there seemed to be no real plans that held any possibility of success, to her at least. She had seen the battlefield footage; the robots were decimating the Soviet troops, and the Ukrainians were following, little dogs behind wolves, happily feeding upon the spoils.  


It was fairly obvious the president would choose to use some of the Skrytyy Spetznatz assets. Their projects, accumulating mutants, accelerating and enhancing their abilities, creating and breeding new ones, was not something that could simply be allowed to go on forever without coming into use, but she did desperately hope that he would not order her to unleash the Omega. Not without safeguards, at least.

The meeting broke up, and she and her assistant returned to their hotel rooms, silent, expecting the rooms to be bugged and likely filmed. The FSB held its power with an iron grip, and the president, being a former KGB man, was happy to let them. He knew how powerful the information they dug up could be. So she and Valentin did not speak, waiting apart instead for the summons that she was sure would come. It would come.

Yet it did not, but neither did the order for her to return to her work. Two days passed. Three. She slept in her dress uniform, had it dry cleaned each day while she wore her field dress. She kept herself occupied with stupid little games on her phone, with reports from the front, with people watching in the lobby, in the hotel café, until at last, at two in the morning, the sharp rap sounded on her door, the FSB entering, and she leapt from the bed saluting as the president entered, mindful of the wrinkles, of the strange picture she was sure she made, but he only saluted her in return.

“You will prepare the Omega Project to be dropped behind enemy lines,” he said without preamble. “The Strigoi and the Medved teams will be held back in case the Omega Project turns in our direction. They can defeat him?”

“I…believe the Strigoi could, yes,” she said, her mind whirling. 

“Good. You have one week. Do not fail the Motherland.”

“No, sir,” she agreed, and he turned on his heel, leaving her room, the FSB filing out behind him. She waited two minutes, catching her breath, coming to terms with his order, then went to her assistant’s room beside her own. “Get up, get dressed,” she ordered. “We have orders.”

 

The locks clicked out of place, the fluid of the stasis chamber rushing out. A full strike force of Medved, her MIshka squad, stood between her and the monster in its plexiglass cell, and still, watching it twitch, coming to, she was afraid. Red eyes blinked open, the tentacles -- twelve now? When had he grown four more? -- caressing, exploring its boundaries.

“Omega Red,” she called, stepping up between the Mishka. “Mother Russia needs you.” The paper pale face turned, searching for the speaker, and she knew when it saw her, saw how it snarled. This was not the original Omega Red, of course. The original Omega Red had slipped its leash years before. This one was the ninth clone to be created, the most biologically stable, but unfortunately its enhancements had driven it to the very edge of sanity. She refused to give it a name, refused to think of it as anything besides Omega Red. It was nothing besides Omega Red, a weapon created for the benefit of Russia .

“Da,” it croaked.

“You will be dropped behind enemy lines,” she began. “Kill everything in your path; move west. Do not stop. Do not hesitate. Wreak every bit of destruction you can. Do you comprehend?”

“Da.” It blinked at her, its tentacles pressing at the glass. “When?”

“Two days from now.” She gestured, and the locks clicked back into place, the stasis fluid beginning to pour back in. “West, Omega Red. You will kill, and you will move west. Those are your only orders.” It lashed out with its tentacles, once, twice, but thankfully, the glass held as the stasis waters rose, drugging it back into complacence. Still, she did not move until those blood red eyes rolled back up into its head, signifying that it was unconscious again.

“We will not risk waking him again,” she said briskly to the technicians and scientists surrounding the tank. “He has been given his orders; we have recorded that he received them and agreed to them. Anything else, we cannot be held accountable for.”

“Yes, General Kailovna,” the head man agreed with a nervous nod. 

“Have the tube ready to load onto a plane at 0400 Wednesday morning. We can do no more.” 

“You want just to drop the stasis chamber?” The man asked as she began to turn to the door.

“Yes,” she said. “We cannot risk waking him again. He will survive the drop. He is Omega. He will wake, angry and disoriented, and he will wreak havoc. That fulfills our orders, so long as he remains pointed to the west.”

“Yes, General.”

 

He twitched, breathing heavily as he struggled to consciousness. Cold and naked, he pushed himself to his feet, the bioengineered carbonadium reinforced tentacles writhing around him, each one gathering information from the air, from the dirt he’d landed in, from the short bursts of communications around him. Slowly, he began to march west in the dark, scanning his location for enemies, for living creatures. He found a few sheep, wrapped them tight and sucked their lives away, a cow and did the same. Somewhat strengthened, he continued, his orders still ringing clear in his mind. Go west. Kill.

The farmhouse wasn’t much more than a hut, the people within easily overcome between his tentacles and his deadly pheromones. He ate, gorging himself on the food the family had stored for winter, resting for a few hours beside the bodies before embarking on his mission again at daybreak.

A small convoy of soldiers died in his path just after noon, and from the bodies he looted a pair of boots, a pair of pants, a few conventional weapons before walking on. Every person, every animal, every bird, that came within the grasp of his gift, he drained the life from, leaving desiccated, gasping, dying bodies in his wake. He was Omega. He was death. 

 

LORD DOOM. YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUIRED BY TELECONFERENCE.

“Thank you, unit 8945. What news of the front?” Victor asked, rising from behind his desk. Unlike the generals, he could not focus solely on the war. He had diplomatic issues to deal with, civil and economic problems to solve. Latveria was a rich country, its credit rating good, but he had to find a way to redistribute the wealth of the country to improve the lives of his people, to lift them higher. They were not stupid or ignorant, not of their own devices, and once again he winced at the thought that he was the one who had kept them in the dark for so long.

OUR FORCES ARE STILL AT THE VANGUARD AND PROVING THEIR WORTH. UKRAINE HAS NOW REGAINED HALF OF THE TERRITORY LOST. 

“Excellent,” Victor said as he followed the Doppelganger to the war room. “Our losses are still within acceptable parameters?”

VERY MUCH SO, SIRE.

“Good. Thank you.” Victor tapped the screen, and General Muzichuk appeared on the screen, the man’s broad face set in worried lines. “General. You asked for me?”

“Lord Protector Von Doom,” the man said, and that was an audible sigh of relief, Victor noted. “Sir, we are receiving some very concerning reports from behind the lines.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve lost contact with four units. Not just one, four,” the general began. “We’re picking up heightened radiation levels from the area, and civilian authorities are reporting the same as well as civilian deaths, horrid civilian deaths.”

“I see. Have your forces investigated?”

“That’s just it. Two of the units we’ve lost were sent to investigate.”’

“Is it a static area, or is it moving?” Victor picked up a tablet from beside him, ordered a ten-unit force of drones readied for launch.

“Moving. I’ll send you the coordinates and the estimated trajectory.”

“Do so. I’ll send in surveillance, and ‘bots if necessary.” Victor paused. “What is the general consensus as to the source of these anomalies?”

“Russian elite forces, one of their special units,” General Muzichuk replied promptly. “Mutants or supersoldiers.”

“They must be frightened, then,” Victor murmured. “One of the secret units.” 

“That’s what we’re afraid of, yes.”

“I will investigate and update you when I have news,” Victor said briskly. “What news on the rest of the mobilization?”

“As a soldier, I hesitate to say things are going well; that often leads to God laughing,” General Muzichuk said after a moment. “But we are driving them before us, thanks to your help.”

“Excellent. Thank you, General. Doom out.” He cut off the communication, found the communiqué with the requisite information, and ordered the launch of the drones. Interception estimated in 14 hours. He considered, then ordered the launch of a Doombot strike force to follow the drones and track them, with a Doppelganger unit in command. He was concerned, for there were very few Spetznatz that left radiation trails. 

“Unit 7342,” he said when he was done. “Inform me the instant we receive data from Drone Unit 79.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS.

 

Darcy took another bite of Cherry Garcia, frowning as she read the screen of her tablet, picking up another from beside her to cross reference the page of the agreement between South Korea and the Avengers. Madripoor wanted bloody nothing to do with them ever again, and South Korea was being very careful in their language to say, we’d rather not have you here save in dire emergency. 

“Hey,” Clint said behind her.

“Hey,” Darcy said absently. “Ice cream?”

“Please?”

“Freezer.”

“Okay.” Footsteps padded away, then came back. Clint sat down on the far end of her couch, staying quiet until she put both tablets down. “Haven’t seen you around for a few.”

“I’ve been really busy,” Darcy said with a sigh. “Where’s ‘Tasha?”

“She’ll be here in a minute. Um.” Clint’s face clouded, and Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Uh. SHIELD is sending her to Ukraine.”

“Just her? Not Strike Team --“

“Nope. I’m supposed to stay here in case the Avengers need me. Or Gambit can’t handle whatever gets sent after you, because,” he sighed, dug his spoon into the Brewed To Matter pint. “Because Russia may have sent out some of their special units.”

“Special units as in…” Darcy let the sentence drift as a sharp rap sounded on her door. “FRIDAY, let her in please.” ‘Tasha came in, already in uniform, sitting down between Darcy and Clint, the presence of the handwarmers Darcy had given her for Hanu-  
Chrisma-Kwanzaa-Solsti-vus showing that it was still ‘Tasha, not the Widow. They would come off the moment the Widow reappeared, probably when she got on the jet, but for now, ‘Tasha’s eyes were still warm, and so were her hands. “’Tash?”

“I just got the order ten minutes ago.” Her voice was low, but not clipped. Not yet. “We thought you should know.” Now her eyes clouded, hiding herself a little. “So far, my presence is requested for intelligence only.”

“And it better stay that way,” Clint grumbled as Darcy passed Natasha her ice cream. “Hey, you had me get my own.”

“You’re not about to go out on a mission. And why are there questions about whether Gambit can handle my security all of a sudden?” Darcy asked.

“Because if, as is suspected, Russia has unlocked the Spetznatz, then the order could come at any time for the Medved or the Strigoi or the Yagina to be sent for you,” Natasha explained. “I will know more when I am on the ground, and Coulson has given  
orders that your safety is a top priority. Doom’s aid on the front has been extraordinarily helpful, and it would not surprise me if Ukrainian and Latverian agents are not sent as backup as well.”

“If the Spetznatz are in play,” Darcy mused. “And what are the Spetznatz?”

“Special forces. Unusual special forces. The Medved are…like Logan, or Sabretooth, except they are bears. The Strigoi are vampiric in nature. The Yagina are…something like Wanda, and just as deadly. So be careful, and listen to Clint and Gambit. They know what they are doing.”

“I will. I promise, far as I’m concerned, I’m not stepping foot outside the building without them and Tony or Jenn until all of this is over.”

“Good.” Natasha handed her back the ice cream, leaned over and laid her cheek to Darcy’s. “I will see you soon, kotyonok. Do not work too hard.”

“Come home,” Darcy replied, her constant refrain when any of the Avengers, but especially Clint and Nat, went out. “And not on your shield.” Nat smiled, stood, and left, ruffling Darcy’s hair on the way. After the door closed behind her, Darcy sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“Would you be so kind as to put on Rebirth of Mothra 3, please? Subtitles, no dubs.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis,” FRIDAY agreed, and her wall screen snapped on, the title screen already up.

“Gimme shelter,” Darcy said, and Clint held out his arm, let her snuggle close.

“She’ll be fine, Darce.”

“I know. But this Spetznatz shit, it’s not normal, is it?” Clint sighed under her.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

“So I’m going to worry.”

“Okay.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I completely understand your concerns, Ambassador,” Darcy said as her office door opened to reveal Jane, freshly tanned and looking thinner, but with a bright glint in her eyes as she grinned. Darcy grinned too, waving madly with the hand not currently busy with the phone. “And that’s why the guarantee from Stark is written into the treaty.”

“Yes. The replacement and insurance clauses,” Mr. Minh, the Vietnamese diplomat replied. “The government of Vietnam would like to see them doubled. The Hulk by himself can do so much damage, how much more when adding Thor or Loki into the mix?”

“I believe we can accommodate you regarding the insurance clauses, but the replacement clauses are non-negotiable. Stark Enterprises guarantees the replacement of any building necessary. That’s millions of dollars worth of possible improvements already.”

“I will speak with my government.”

“Of course. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” Darcy hung up when the ambassador did, rising from her desk and running around it to fling her arms around Jane. “OH MY GOD! When did you get in? Did you get laid? You’ve got the “freshly laid” look and I am all of the jealous.”

“Darce!” Jane blushed, and Darcy nodded.

“Yep! Got a right root, din’tcha?” Darcy said in an atrocious Australian accent, and Jane laughed, her body shaking so hard she fell into Darcy’s guest chair.

“Yeh,” Jane managed to say in just as bad dialect. “Sure did.” Both women dissolved in giggles. “An’ what about y’self? Foine Sheila like you?”

“Alas, the dry spell continues. But things are looking…interesting,” Darcy offered before glancing at her watch. “I’m still on the clock. Listen, um, things are really interesting right now, but I can’t go into detail. Just…wait till five, okay?”

“No problem. I just got in, and I wanted you to know I was home so when you came up you weren’t surprised,” Jane said. “I’m exhausted, anyway. StarkJets are faster than QANTAS, but it’s still a heck of a long flight.”

“Right. Go get some sleep, we can catch up later,” Darcy offered.

“Sure. Hey, who’s the new guy?” Jane asked, and Darcy blinked. “Tall, dark hair, kind of longish, brown eyes?”

“And that’s one of the things we’re going to talk about,” Darcy said. “Um. He’s my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard? What did you do while I was gone, Darce?” Jane asked, and Darcy gave her a small smile.

“I…kind of started dating someone important?”

“Oh! Is he hot? Who is it? Do I know him?” Jane gushed, and Darcy shook her head.

“I don’t think you’ve ever met, and I don’t know if he’s hot or not but I kind of -- you know, personality’s really important,” she said, and Jane pulled back, looking at her oddly.

“How do you not know whether the guy you’re dating is hot?”

“When he wears a mask.”

“You’re dating the Phantom of the Opera?”

“No. I’m dating Victor von Doom.”

Jane blinked slowly a couple of times, opened her mouth and closed it again four times before finally getting some words out. “Doctor Doom.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re dating Doctor Doom.”

“Yeah.”

“As in the dictator of Latveria, Doctor Doom.”

“Yeah.” Jane blinked again, then nodded.

“Okay. Um. We’re gonna talk about this. Right?”

“Right. He likes your work,” Darcy said quickly. “He really respects your work.”

“That’s…that’s…that’s actually flattering,” Jane admitted. “But I don’t get why you need a bodyguard.”

“Because Latveria is helping Ukraine repel the New Soviet,” Darcy sighed. “And helping guard Poland. He thinks I’m in danger because we’ve been seen together.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I can understand that, sure,” Jane replied, nodding slowly. “Okay. Um. So I -- yeah. I’m going to go have a nap, and then we’re going to talk about this later.” 

“Absolutely,” Darcy nodded. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Jane’s lips pressed together as she looked at Darcy. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“No, but that’s par for the course. Also we’re mad at Steve,” Darcy said as she helped Jane up.

“We’re mad at Steve. Okay. Why are we mad at Steve?”

“It’s related.” Darcy walked Jane to the door of her office. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Jane agreed. 

Once Jane was safely out the door, Darcy went back to work, comparing the agreement with Vietnam with several others, concentrating on the reparations, replacement, and repair clauses. The agreements varied, as different countries had different needs and requirements and threat levels, but on the whole, they needed to offer the same thing; an offer of security and trust. Trust that the Avengers would do everything they could not to cause collateral damage. Trust that they would fix anything they broke. Trust that they would not go rogue.

Stark Enterprises offering to reimburse, replace, and repair things went a long way toward building that trust. More, Plan Hippocrates and Plan Hades ensured that where things went wrong (as they would, unfortunately, sometimes they just couldn’t get there in time, and supervillains didn’t care about the cost in human life) they ensured that the survivors of the dead and the living were taken care of without costs to the governments.  
She cut off at five as usual, gathered her things and went upstairs, dropping her bags on the easy chair and checking on Jane, first thing. She was dead to the world, curled around her pillow, and Darcy grinned to herself, closing the door again softly before going to the kitchen and making dinner for two, sliding Jane’s back into the fridge for later.

She had just sunk into her book, Gavin de Becker’s “The Gift of Fear,” when someone tapped lightly on her door. “FRIDAY?” She said softly.

“Mr. LeBeau, Miss Lewis,” came the answer, and Darcy got up to answer it. Honestly, he looked yummy; black cotton clung to his torso like a second skin, and his jeans weren’t much better. 

“Cher,” he said softly. “The Avengers are being called out. Some sort of creature appearing in Holland, of all places. May I?”

“Sure, just stay quiet,” Darcy murmured. “Jane’s asleep.”

“Of course,” Remy agreed, and she let him in.

“You want coffee or a beer?”

“Coffee, please. No drinking on the job,” he winked. “How is my boss today?”

“He hasn’t called today,” Darcy said, leading the way to the kitchen, Remy right behind her after he locked the door.

“I thought he called every day?”

“Every morning, usually, yeah.” She poured coffee, added just a touch of cream, two tablespoons of sugar. 

“Huh.” Remy’s dark eyes were shadowed as he took the cup from her. “Merci.”

“De rien. No, he’s probably just busy, I mean, he’s trying to avert a world war, after all,” Darcy shrugged. 

“True,” Remy agreed, sitting down on the end of the couch closest to the door. “You are taking it much better than I would have expected.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darcy sighed, picking up her book. “He’s the leader of a country, he’s trying to restructure his own government, and he’s at war, Remy. I can’t just expect him to be at my beck and call during a crisis.”

“I agree. He’s lucky to find such a level headed, lovely woman,” Remy grinned. “If you could make etouffee, I’d find myself hard pressed not to give him a run for his money, cher.”

“I can make etouffee. I just don’t, because it’s a giant pain in the ass,” Darcy countered. “Shelling shrimp is not my favorite way to spend an afternoon, thanks. You have seen the way people around here eat?”

“Be still my heart. You make it the right way? Homemade stock, even?” Remy’s eyebrow rose, and Darcy laughed as he leaned toward her, giving her what was obviously supposed to be a seductive look. “Cher. Mon petit fille la belle, do you know what poor ol’ Remy would do for a decent bowl of etouffee?”

“No. Nor do I want to,” she grinned. “You want etouffee that bad, you know where to find it.”

“True,” he sighed, letting himself just fall onto the couch cushion between them rather than sit back up. “The problem is I can’t show my face down home a while longer yet.”

“Yeah. Issues you don’t wanna talk about, I know.”

“Not don’t want to,” Remy corrected her. “Can’t. It’s worth more than my life to talk about it.”

“Right. But you know there’s restaurants here in New York that serve Creole and Cajun --“ she began, and stopped, watching his nose wrinkle up, his mouth twist.

“No. ‘Less the chef is there, not worth my time, and besides, these days it’s just better to stay ‘round the Tower. Maybe once your man gets his shit straightened out, might treat myself; there’s places in ‘Bama and Gulfport that  
are almost as good as Mama Pepper’s,” he sighed, drama leaking off of him like rain.

“Awww. Ma pauvre petit,” Darcy teased.

“Don’t go stealin’ my lines,” he grinned up at her. 

“No, but do you know how to make it?” She asked, and he sat up, crossing his arms and looking at her, chin drawn down almost to his chest, affronted.

“Of course!”

“Then maybe the next time you see Bonnie, you can go to hers and teach her how. There’s you a cute date.”

“You’re a genius, Lewis,” he smirked in return. “Maybe tomorrow. Pardon me.” He slid his phone from his pocket and started texting, and Darcy returned to her book. 

 

The Black Widow nodded a polite greeting to the generals and Doom as she entered the command center. Monitors covered one wall, each showing a different area of the battlegrounds, one mysteriously dark.

“Agent Romanoff,” a general said. “We are glad to have you here.”

“Thank you. What information do you have regarding the anomaly?” She asked. She had read the written debriefs and reports on the flight over, but she knew that they would have fresher information waiting. She was not disappointed.

“Several drones sent footage,” Doom said, coming to stand beside her. “Agent.”

“Lord Protector.”

The monitor flickered to life, showing first only a forest, the thick green leaves passing slowly before the camera, before it focused on a dirt track below. Two more feeds opened to the side, and she watched as a solitary figure appeared in the distance, walking slowly but purposefully toward the cameras. The bottom left focused, zoomed out, focused again on the stranger, and the Black Widow bit her lip.  
Bright pale skin showed from the torso to the head; its hair, too, was white. Red covered the abdomen, then suddenly unwrapped itself, several tentacles unwinding, searching, before the camera died. The same phenomena happened twice more, and the Black Widow’s shoulders stiffened as the monitor went black again. 

“Can you identify it, Agent Romanoff?” A general asked, and she nodded, turning to face the men and women around her.

“It must be a clone,” she began. “Because its original form is dead. I know it to be dead. Logan, better known as Wolverine, killed him several years ago. That is a clone of Omega Red. Because it is a clone, I’m not sure what powers it has, precisely. The original mutant -- it was a mutant, enhanced by the Soviet government in the 1970s, given carbonadium tentacles to use as weapons and to enhance its own natural abilities. It was inhumanly strong and fast. It had a regeneration ability, and the ability to kill through secreting some sort of gas or emission into the air. Again, I don’t know what sort of ability this has; clones are notorious for mutating beyond the original’s powers.”

The generals began speaking to one another, an excited hum rising through the air, and Black Widow turned to look up at Doom. “You might be able to stop it. But I don’t think any normal human could.”

“No. They’ve lost four squads already trying to intercept it,” he replied. “It leaves a radioactive trail behind it, villages and small towns have been devastated, almost a 100 percent kill rate. I intend to intercept it with a group of Doombots before the day is out. Now that we know what it is, I can check my own records against what it has left behind to try to extrapolate what extra powers this version has.”

Widow nodded. “That’s a very good idea.”

“Thank you. I’m known to have them from time to time.”

“So you are. And I take it I don’t have to give you the don’t do anything stupid speech?” She asked, one eyebrow rising. His answering chuckle was low and deep, almost a growl. 

“No, Agent Romanoff. I will make no move until I am sure of the creature’s abilities and weaknesses,” he told her before stepping away, toward the generals. “May I suggest that we speed up the evacuation efforts if possible?” He offered. “Let no more civilians die before we find a way to stop it.”

Black Widow observed him interacting with the generals and subordinates, silently reevaluating the man. Everything the Widow knew of Doom was being turned on its head. Doom was traditionally a loner, often acting unilaterally when one could persuade him into acting for the good of humanity at all. His ego was, like Namor’s, big enough to take on any challenge, and often only his sheer force of will had been the only thing to save him from certain death and/or destruction.

Widow had been ambivalent about his apparent change of heart. Widow had been concerned when Darcy had expressed interest, her concern only growing when the interest appeared to be reciprocated. However, Widow had withheld judgment. Her slowly growing respect for the man had jumped dramatically when he had mentioned having Darcy protected. Darcy was good. Widow and ‘Tasha trained Darcy themselves, not willing to trust anyone else with their Kitten, save perhaps Clint. But Widow was well aware that an enhanced human or a mutant could still easily overpower Darcy, so having Gambit show up had been a relief. 

Widow had to admit, she liked what she saw. Doom seemed as if he wanted to ensure the safety of the civilians in Omega Red’s path. He seemed as if he were willing to wait for more intelligence regarding the clone’s powers. While Widow was fairly certain he could squash Omega like a bug, still, caution being a watchword was not a bad thing. 

Widow conferred silently with Natasha, also watching. Time would tell, they decided. And until they had observed him longer, they could not tell his true intentions. The armor was one of the barriers; they could not read his face or his body language properly. 

But this at least was a good start. And he had to have some sort of tells. They would find them. They would memorize them. And then, when at last Widow and Natasha saw him with Darcy, they would have some sort of measurement. If he meant her well, fine and good. Darcy as Queen of Latveria? Widow and Natasha had no issues with that. Darcy was clever and intelligent, and would likely be very good for the people. If he meant anything else…well. Widow knew several other people that would gladly help her avenge her Kitten.


	13. Chapter 13

Doppelganger Unit 7026 extrapolated the path most probably taken by the unknown variable, directed the Doombots to take up ambush positions, and landed approximately half a mile away, fully concealing itself using the stealth technology the Master had brought back from Star Cluster 8432478 a few years before. The camera feeds from the ground forces would feed intel back to his position, as well as to the Master. It began feeding orders to the units.

**CENTRAL COMMAND HAS CONFIRMED CIVILIANS EVACUATED.**  
DOOM ORDERS THAT UNKNOWN VARIABLE BE INTERCEPTED WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.  
CAPTURE PREFERRED, ELIMINATION ACCEPTABLE.  
PRECIPITATION CURRENTLY 100 PERCENT, VISIBILITY AT 73 PERCENT; ENGAGE INFRARED SENSORS.  
ENGAGE FORCE FIELDS AND TARGETING SYSTEMS. 

Approximately an hour later, the first feed came in.  
**TARGET SIGHTED.**  
The video feed showed a muscular humanoid male, very pale skin, red eyes, dressed in Ukraine Army issued field camo trousers and boots. Shirtless, it held two AK-74s, one in each arm, a belt slung over its shoulder with several small arms holstered as it kept walking, moving irrevocably toward the Doombot force.

DU-7026 noted that as the humanoid walked through the forest that birds and small animals dropped from the trees. It was not firing; DU-7026 extrapolated that its deadly aura of radiation was therefore powerful enough to simply kill small beings. The Doombots were well shielded from radiation. The aura should not effect them. DU-7026 was even better shielded. Should the aura be powerful enough to put the regular forces offline, DU-7026 should theoretically still be able to intercept.

The first line of the ambush began to fire, laser bolts ripping through the air. The variable stopped, turning its face toward the left. Three wiry white and gray appendages unwrapped themselves from around its torso, rising into the air in the general direction of the metallic soldiers. The appendages seemed to open a triangular set of pincers at the ends of each tentacle, and a few seconds later, the firing from that box stopped. The humanoid turned to the other side of the path, performing the same action; as it did so, DU-7026 ran a series of analyses on the now fallen Doombots, sending the information instantaneously back to Lord Doom.  
The cross-squad also went silent, and DU-7026 came to his own conclusions as the unknown variable advanced to the next killbox. The battery power of the Doombots had been entirely drained, as had the energy generators and reserves that powered their laser rifles. 

“Doppelganger Unit 7026,” Doom’s voice sounded suddenly. “Your new orders are to observe aerially, from twice the recommended distance. Remain stealthed, remain shielded. Relay all observations to the central intelligence units and to myself.”

**“AS DOOM COMMANDS.”**

DU-7026 rose into the air until the forest path below was but a speck to its camera sensors before engaging zoom on the target. It was still moving relentlessly west, barely slowing as the rest of the Doomguard engaged it, several more of the strange appendages rising from around the humanoid’s torso and waving slightly in the direction of the slowly failing robots. 

 

“Omega Red’s original powers allowed it to drain the life energies from living beings,” Doom said as he and the generals of the allied forces watched the video feed. “My current hypothesis is that the clone has mutated that ability insofar that it can drain any sort of energy.”

“And with Omega Red’s mutant healing factor, even a sniper from a mile away wouldn’t be able to keep him down,” Black Widow mused behind him. “A bullet in the head might stop him for a few minutes, but he would only get back up. Logan had to use the Muramasa Blade to kill the original.” 

“And he has sworn never to wield that blade again,” Doom replied. “And no one else can do so as well and as efficiently as he.”

“Nor would he just loan it out,” Widow pointed out. “And I can’t blame him, if half of what they say about the Muramasa Blade is true.”

“Then…perhaps a focused missile strike?” One of the generals offered. “Whatever we do, we must do soon; it’s going to come into heavily populated areas eventually.”  
Doom caught Widow’s eye, then glanced to the side door of the briefing room as the generals and commanders began planning a strategy. She waited for him to leave, waited a full two minutes after, then followed his path, finding him down the hallway, toward the hangar. “Lord Doom.”

“Widow.” He paused. “I have an idea as to how to deal with the clone. I must return to Latveria for a few hours to prepare, but it should be fairly straightforward.”

“What’s your plan?” Direct. To the point. He found he admired that about the Widow. Intriguing.

“I will go home and bring one of the stasis chambers in one of my labs back online. Then I will transport it directly to the waiting stasis chamber,” he said. “You said that a sniper would be able to knock it out for a few seconds, at least?”

“I think so, yes,” she said slowly. “The regeneration factor needs time to work; you might have as much as five minutes.”

“I will need less than one. A Doppelganger unit will shoot it, and another will attach a teleportation device, which will be activated remotely. The clone will be transferred directly to a stasis chamber, and will never regain consciousness.”

“And why are you telling me this, and not the generals?” Widow asked, looking up at him with narrowed, calculating green eyes. 

“First,” he began, “you are the SHIELD representative. I have no doubt that SHIELD and may other agencies, as well as my allies in the next room, would give their eyeteeth for a chance at the being’s DNA, or other uses for research. I am telling you, now, that as far as I am concerned, that being will remain in stasis until all life signs are dormant for a decade. It will not be used for research. It will not be used for anything. It is beyond us all, and if it were to be set loose upon innocents again, I do not know if it could be contained again.”

“And you won’t use it for research of your own?”

“Absolutely not. You have my word as a ruler and a gentleman.”

“Then as far as I’m concerned, you’ve sent it into the sun or something,” Widow said after a moment. “Deep space, back in time, something to that effect. That’s what will go in my report. You said that was first.”

“Second…” he paused again. “I will have to be in the laboratory in Doomstadt to aid in settling the clone into stasis. If it should awaken, if…if something goes wrong. I would have you take a message to Miss Lewis.”

Now Widow’s head went back a fraction, her gaze softening a fraction. “Of course.”

Trusting she understood the language, and even if she didn’t, she would memorize the words, he spoke in his native tongue; “Tell her not to let this dim her luster. Stars are meant to shine.”

“You will tell her yourself, of course,” Widow said after a second. 

“Of course. This is only a contingency.” She nodded, and he teleported back to Doomstadt.

 

Darcy had no illusions as to how Jane would take her...could they call it a relationship? Whatever was going on between herself and Victor. So when she came in to find Jane ensconced on the couch, wine bottle on the table, she almost, almost, pled work and fled again. But she didn't.

Instead, she stepped out of her shoes and took a seat, taking the wineglass held out to her. "So," Jane began. "I talked to Tony. And Clint."

"Uh-huh." Darcy took a rather larger sip of wine than she'd intended, waiting for the rest.

"They're both...hesitantly supportive," Jane said. "And I did a little research, too."

"Yeah."

"But what I need to know, what I really need to hear from you, is how you feel," Jane went on, reaching for Darcy's hand. "And what you think."

"I...huh." She tried to gather her thoughts. "I think he's on the level about trying to change," she began. "And he was already moving in the right direction a full year, year and a half, before we met. So I don't think it's some movie villain redemption arc. He's been doing some real work, hard work, there in Latveria and...and I think inner work, too. But I can't say that for certain." She took another drink, her throat dry. "We haven't had a chance to get to know each other, not really, not with what's going on in Eastern Europe."

"He came to see you two weeks ago, Tony told me."

"Yeah, and we talk every day, well, almost every day. Time differences, so he calls me in the mornings. He hasn't the last couple days; something really bad is going on out there, they sent 'Tash for Intel support..." She managed to keep her composure somehow, ignoring the burning sensation of worried tears rising behind her eyes.

"You like him," Jane said, and Darcy nodded. "Okay. It's your life, and your heart; but fair warning, Darce. If he hurts you, ever, I'm going to scream for H-Man as loud as I can. And I doubt that T and L will let him off easy." The two had realized long before that the members of the Asgardian Court somehow knew when their names were mentioned, some kind of selective telepathy, so they rarely said the names aloud. "I'm half tempted to tell them anyway."

"Yeah... really not looking forward to that, actually," Darcy admitted. "With everybody's past and all."

"If you keep seeing him, it's going to come up," Jane shrugged. "Might as well get it over with, and besides, they probably already know."

"Yeah..." She hadn't really thought about that, but honestly, they probably did. Heimdall did keep a closer watch over her and Jane than most. "So Australia. Who'd you hook up with down there?"

Jane blushed, looking down at her wine. "His name is Ned, and he was a great guy," she said, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth. 

"Cool," Darcy nodded, and didn't press. Jane was a little uptight about talking about...well, flings. And since she lived in New York, and this guy lived in Oz, that's what it had been and likely how it would stay. If Jane wanted to go into detail, she would.

"So why are we mad at Steve?" Jane asked after a second, and Darcy's eyes rolled so hard she saw white. 

"Hey, FRIDAY," Darcy called. "Show Janie what she missed a couple weeks back, hmm?" The television flicked on, security feed already cued up, and began to play. When it finished, Jane's fists were balled up in her lap, her eyes narrowed, and she laughed humorlessly.

"He...he didn't get it?" She said, her voice rising in indignation. "It doesn't -- has he said anything else about it?"

"I've been hiding," Darcy shrugged. "If I'm not in the office, I've been here. It's okay," she said, cutting Jane off before her friend could vent her ire. "I've been really super busy lately, bringing work home, the whole nine yards; if I'm not working, I'm vegging out to crappy TV and knitting, so it really hasn't been a big deal." Deftly, she reached out and wrapped an arm around Jane's shoulders. "I appreciate that you're ready to punch the Man With The Plan, Janie, but all you'll do is break your fingers."

"Th -- T wouldn't," Jane said, and Darcy nodded.

"That's true enough, but it's not worth bugging him over. Plus, hey, we've got to work here, live here. I said my piece, and I'm pretty sure Nat and Clint and Tony have made it clear just what an asshole he was being. So it's all good. You can give him dirty looks, you can give him the cut direct, as the Dowager Countess would say, whatever, until he apologizes and means it." Jane’s eyes relaxed a fraction, but her jaw hadn’t set back -- one of Jane’s biggest tells was that when she was mad, her jaw jutted out like Batman. “I mean. I think it’s partly a learning curve? He’s only been back out of the ice for four years, Jane. And really, he’s assimilated into the modern culture fairly well. Just…some things stick, you know? And one of those things, unfortunately, is ingrained sexism. I bet you he doesn’t even see it that way, I mean, he doesn’t usually give me shit, or any of the rest of us. It’s just…”

“He’s being a Nice Guy,” Jane hissed. “All he’s missing is the fedora and uneven whiskers.”

“M’lady,” Darcy giggled, and Jane finally broke a smile. “Maybe it’s a side effect of being a superhero. I don’t know. I know I didn’t want to date him before; ogle, maybe, but not date. And now I’ll double down on that decision. I think it’ll be okay, he’s just…got to get the fuck over himself.”

“Does the cut direct include ordering Chinese for everybody but him?” Jane pondered, and Darcy shook her head, smiling.

“Nah. Can’t do that, everybody’s gotta eat, Janie. Now, maybe forgetting to order onion seed bagels on Sunday for brunch? That could happen. Still plenty of other stuff.”

“But not his favorite.”

“But not his favorite, exactly.” Darcy didn’t protest; she’d gotten her own licks in when she’d stood up to Steve, and she was fairly sure Pepper and Natasha and maybe Wanda had said something over the last couple of weeks. Jane deserved her turn. And eventually, Steve would get his head out of his ass, and everything would go back to normal. Maybe.

 **DESIGNATION EAGLE EYE ONLINE.**  
_Here is your target._  
**TARGET ACCEPTED.**  
_Head shot required._  
**ACCEPTED.**  
_Engage. ___

__

___EXCERPT FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF VICTOR VON DOOM_ _ _

__

___…it was not an easy thing, wrestling the feeds into place within the sphere. From the moment the body appeared before me, I was weakened; I could feel my strength sagging within me, even with the clone unconscious. And every moment wasted was another in which it could awaken.___

______ _ _

___I fell out of the sphere, the panel closing behind me, the stasis fluid dripping from my boots and the ends of my cloak. But I did complete my mission. I had to be dragged away by several Doppelganger units, but that poor creature will never again walk the surface of the earth.___

_________ _ _ _ _ _

___Laboratory XX will never be used again. It has its own power source, a force field encompassing it, as well as a stealth cloak. If any of the gods that exist have any mercy at all, or any compassion for humanity, no one will ever stumble upon it and accidentally release the creature; I find I cannot call it a man.___

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___But it shall not be used as a weapon again. It is too powerful. Too dangerous. I do not dare, and I have dared much. Let it remain beneath the surface of the earth. Let it remain locked away for a thousand years; perhaps it will die eventually. Perhaps not. In either case, I will not see it released to wreak havoc amongst us again.___

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___**So swears Doom**._ _ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__The pen fell from his fingers, and he slumped over his desk. He had taken the antiradiation medicine before and after dealing with the creature, but he was still weak from the prolonged exposure to its mutant power._ _

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	14. Chapter 14

Do u have a way 2 cntct N?

Yeah. Y?

Nvr mnd. DUMB. L8r.

KK.

Clint looked down at the text exchange he’d had with Darcy earlier in the afternoon, frowning, before he unlocked his door and went to his bedroom, changing into worn jeans and a warm but soft Henley and his favorite boots, sliding a few knives into sheaths, tucking a Glock 19 into his jacket pocket before leaving his apartment again, going down to Darcy and Jane’s. He tapped on the door, waited patiently for it to open.

“Good,” Jane said, seeing him; she was tanner than she normally was, and didn’t seem so thin. Awesome, somebody had gotten her to eat more than Pop Tarts and yogurt. “Now maybe she’ll quit going back and forth on whether to call you or not.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” He asked, stepping into the apartment to see Darcy hunched over one of the sofa pillows, watching “Godzilla Raids Again.” She looked up as he came in, giving him half a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, taking the hand he held out as he squatted down beside her. “You’re just in time, Godzilla’s just getting to Osaka.”

“Yeah, cool. Come on, let’s take a walk.”

“Sure. You wanna call Gambit?”

“He’s already downstairs waiting.”

“Kay.” She got up, and he noted she was still in her work outfit; it was well after seven. “Just walking? Not clubbing or anything?”

“Gonna go see a man about a dog, maybe?” He offered, and she nodded, grinning. 

“Okay. Gimme five minutes.”

 

They met Remy in the lobby, headed out into the street. All three were quiet, relatively so, until they got on the subway, heading for Brooklyn. The car was almost empty, save for a couple of older women at the far end, and Clint sat down on one side of Darcy, Gambit across from them. “So what’s up?” He asked without preamble.

“Just. Have you heard anything?” She said after a few seconds. “I haven’t heard anything at all in four days, he’s never gone this long without calling me. Remy -- “

“I called yesterday to give my report; it wasn’t him on the other end, was one of his lookalike robots,” Gambit said lowly, eyes never staying still. “He usually take my report personally. He don’t trust nobody when it come to her.”

“That’s what you were texting about this afternoon?” Clint asked, and Darcy nodded, looking down at her shoes. 

“I didn’t want to be obvious, but, you know, she’s still over there, I figured she’d seen him, she’d know if he was just overly busy or whatever.”

“Yeah. You call the Embassy or anything?”

“God, no. Guys hate clingy --“ she sighed, and he could see the exasperation in her eyes as she flopped back dramatically against the subway seat. “Fuck. I don’t even know! I’m not his girlfriend --“

“You’re his girlfriend, cher,” Remy said, cocking his head. “Ain’t no man pays what that man payin’ out to keep a gal safe if she ain’t his girlfriend.”

“You’re sweet,” she said, glancing up at Remy. “But still yet, I don’t know what he’s told the embassy about me, I don’t know whether they’re authorized to tell me anything…and besides…” she blew out her breath, exasperated again. “Besides, that’s just kind of…I don’t know. It kind of sounds dumb.”

“I get you,” Clint said reassuringly, bumping his bicep against hers. “It’s okay.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed. “Hey, Ricky. It’s Pete. Two pies, everything but onion, okay? Right. Yeah, I’m on the subway, should be there about the time they’re comin’ out the oven. You do me a favor? Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, man. Yeah, twenty or so.” He hung up. “We get to my place, I’ll see what ‘Tasha knows after we eat.”

“Sure.”

 

Darcy dropped to her knees within five seconds of their entering the crappy apartment that Clint kept over here as a safehouse, letting Lucky nuzzle and lick her face as she scrunched her fingers into his fur. The men went on to deal with the pizza and beer, ignoring the whimpering sobs that Darcy was trying to muffle in dog hair. She was just so worried! He’d been so good about calling her, every day, every single day, and then not to hear for four days, after ‘Tasha had been sent…

“Petit,” Remy said behind her. “Petit, come on, you gonna drown M’sieur Chien, there.”

“Lucky’s lived through worse than Darcy’s tears,” Clint said, his words accentuated by popping beer tops. “Lucky’s lived through her hangovers.” Her answer was a left middle finger stuck high in the air, and Clint laughed. “But he’s right. Come eat, then I’ll see if I can get ‘Tash.”

The pizza was good, and Lucky got his two slices as well before Clint disappeared into the bathroom for ten minutes, coming back out with a wet arm and a plastic fireproof (and likely waterproof) lockbox. He unlocked it, took out the satellite phone inside and powered it on before tapping out a message and putting it on the table. “She’ll call as soon as she’s got time,” Clint said, sitting back and picking up his beer….which he then had to put right back down, as the phone rang. He pressed a series of buttons before answering it, relief written all over his face. “Tash.” He listened a moment, then spoke again. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Kind of important though. Where’s Doom, ‘Tash?” His face grew taut again as he listened to her, his shoulders rising, and Darcy knew then, knew something, something was wrong. “Yeah. No. No, not for four days, not since before you -- right. Maybe? We don’t know. Fuck.” Clint’s forehead fell into his palm. “Yeah. Okay. Well -- no, no trouble on this end. I don’t…you think? Maybe? Sure. Sure, I’ll tell her. May as well try, hell. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Later.”

He hung up, pressed more buttons, powered down the phone and locked it away again before he looked at Darcy. “There was an incident,” he began, and Darcy held out her arms for Lucky, the dog jumping into her lap and settling there. “Tasha was able to fulfill the mission you know about. But the target sighted was SHIELD Level 7 Classified, Darce. I can’t tell you what it was, I can’t even tell you its code name. But it was …we’ll say Sabretooth level dangerous.” That made Remy shift nervously. “Doom took care of it. Personally.”

“No…” Darcy heard herself whisper, burying her face in Lucky’s fur. “No…”

“Here’s the thing; his ‘bots are still working. Still following the commanders’ orders over there. He hasn’t been seen since, but that -- he may have gone back to Doomstadt, may have been that he needs to rest, maybe it made him sick,” Clint went on. “Your…the best way to know anything would be for you to go to the Embassy and ask.”

“Or go to Doomstadt,” she said, looking up at Clint. “Do you think --“

“Doomstadt is a no-fly zone, Darcy --“

“I can get you there,” Gambit offered. “I can call Nightcrawler --“

“Nope,” she said, popping the P and standing up, Lucky jumping down. “I can get a ride. I just have to ask nicely. Tell Jane --“ she hesitated. “Tell Janey you couldn’t stop me.”  
She ran then, out the door and down the three sets of stairs to the street, looking both ways before stepping into the center of the asphalt.  
“HEIMDALL! HEIMDALL, OPEN THE BIFROST!”

She held her breath, closed her eyes -- she had traveled like this only a few times, but Thor had promised -- she felt it, the power, the energy, surging through her body, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes closed, opening them, she knew, would lead to her puking all over Heimdall when she got there and that wouldn’t be nice -- she fell to her knees on solid metal, staying there, eyes still closed, until she thought she had herself under control. Only then did she look up into the warm golden eyes of the Gatekeeper, the Farseer, the Guardian, Heimdall of Asgard.  
“Your Grace.” He offered her a hand, helped her to her feet. “What brings you to New Asgard, Your Highness?”

“I need a favor,” she said, clinging to the warmth of his hand; the Bifrost was cold. No one ever talked about how cold the interdimensional travel was. “Please, Heimdall.”

“Your Highness forgets,” he said with a small smile. “I am sworn to defend Asgard, and obey the royal family. Of which you are part, these days. Command me, Princess.”

“I -- “ it seemed so petty, now, now that she was here…”would…would you please ask Thor and Loki to come meet me? I…I think I should probably talk this over with them, first?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

 

Fever wracked him, left him weak and sweating in his sheets, hallucination and reality mixing and driving time out of sync. The Doppelganger units bathed their master in lukewarm baths, fed him, brought him medication and made him take it, saw to his every need in his seclusion. One, DU-99, acted in his stead, but made no decisions, only “taking this grave matter under advisement until a decision can be reached.”  
He knew his Mother was dead, yet she came to his bedside. Werner was dead, Kristoff…and Valeria.  
“I’m sorry,” he gasped through cracked lips as her shade stood silently judging him. “I was mad. I am sorry.”

“You were mad,” the phantom agreed, tucking back her cloak’s hood to show her as she had been before…then after. “Mad for power, mad for strength. Are you yet, Victor?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I loved you,” she whispered, and he closed his eyes against the pain in her spectral voice.

“I know. I loved you -- I loved you as best I could in my madness, I am sorry, Valeria, you will never, never know how sorry I am…” words failed him as tears rose in his eyes, in his throat, choking him. She should kill him, she had every right…

But a chill enveloped his flesh instead, phantom tears dropping onto his chest. “I forgive you,” the specter whispered in his ear. “I am beyond pain, beyond anger, now. Sleep, Victor. Rest.”

 

“She did WHAT?” Jane shrieked, and Clint really, really wished he hadn’t turned his hearing aid on to make the call.

“She called Heimdall. And the Bifrost opened,” he said again. “She’s…she’s going to Doomstadt, I’m pretty sure.”

“She won’t go straight there,” Jane said, half to herself. “Heimdall won’t let her go straight there, she’ll have to talk to Thor and Loki first…that. That might do it, if she appears as she is…”

“What -- as she is? What does that mean?” Clint asked, and Jane giggled.

 

The Bifrost shrieked, cutting through space and time, and the Doppelganger and Doombot units rushed to its landing spot in the courtyard of Castle Doom. Thor, they recognized, and Loki, both with weapons at their sides, hands near them but not touching them. But more, they recognized the woman with them, the woman dressed in elegant silver and green, her hair braided on top of her head, a diamond coronet atop it.

“I am Princess Darcy Anna Lewis of New Asgard, Wielder of Lightning, Countess of the Province of Skaarsgard, Political Analyst for the Avengers, and -- and Victor Von Doom’s girlfriend,” she announced, her voice ringing through the courtyard. “Where is he?”

Every single unit fell to one knee before her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE, SURPRISE, SURPRISE!
> 
> Will explain exactly HOW she is a princess in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, difficult conversations with overprotective adopted brother(s).


	15. Chapter 15

_Thor had flown, and he had ridden Sleipnir, urging the beast to high speed, to the New Observatory upon receiving Heimdall’s summons, entering the grand structure to find Darcy with tears still wet on her cheeks, sitting at table, a mug of honeyed tea in her hand.  “Hey, guys.  I didn’t really think about this before I did it, once I got here, I thought I better talk to you first.”_

_“Darcy?”  Thor had knelt before her, grasping her hand gently.  “What is wrong, systir?”_

_“I’m…well, I’m falling in love with the wrong guy,” her laughter had been forced, half-bitter; neither she or Thor had seen Loki take a step backwards, those words cutting through his breast with the force of Mjolnir, the edge of Gungnir.  “And he’s gone all radio silence, and I’ve got a really good reason to think he’s in trouble, and I can’t get to him by earthly means.”_

_“The Bifrost is not a taxi service.”  He covered his momentary weakness through cutting words, as always, but Darcy had only given him a small smile and nodded._

_“I know.  But this isn’t a normal guy.”_

_“What normal man would be worthy of your attentions?”  Thor had chuckled.  “And as for his being the wrong man, well, we will see; to court a princess of Asgard, he’ll have to go through us, anyway.”_

_“Thor.  Hold off until she tells us who it is.  For there are few places, to be fair, that Darcy would not have the connections and the resources to gain access to.”  A sarcastic chuckle escaped her, her gaze focused purely on the mug before her._

_“Funny you should say that.”_

_“Tell us who it is, and tell us why you think your presence might be necessary, rather than having Loki and I see to whatever trouble this man might be in.”_

_“He fought something, did something, really brave and really stupid, Natasha said so,” she said first.  “Probably saved a lot of lives, very heroic.  Also very stupid.”_

_“His name, an you will, systir.”_

_“Victor Von Doom.”  Before her words had finished echoing through the room, Loki’s hands were flying, desperate to find that Doom had cast some spell, some enchantment, found some potion or bit of far flung technology to make Darcy think she was interested, think that perhaps she was falling in love…but nothing seemed amiss, though Thor’s glance over his shoulder showed the same fear in his heart that Loki held in his, though lesser._

_“Darcy.  Victor Von Doom is not…he is not someone that either of us trust,” Thor managed to say, rather than calling for Heimdall to open the Bifrost, so that he could go and rip the man’s head off his shoulders. For the first time, Loki found himself cursing Thor’s hesitation, rather than the other way round._

_“He’s different now.  He’s not all Doom-y, he doesn’t speak in the third person, he’s moving to give his people more freedom and autonomy, but he has to go slowly.  And he’s been fighting on behalf of other countries, to help keep the New Soviet from overrunning Ukraine and Romania, whatever’s happened, it’s happened because he was trying to save people, Thor, to help…” Oh, Norns SAVE him from a false change of heart!  Victor Von Doom, truly change?  That was --_

_…like someone saying you could not do so, my son?...a voice slipped into his heart that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s._

_….Damn it.  He sighed, settling his weight more evenly.  “She shows no sign of being influenced by spell or magical means,” he began.  “That I can tell, anyway.”_

_“That’s one worry gone, then.  Thank you,” Thor nodded to him.  “And what do you think?”_

_“I think…I think we should listen to her, at least, and consider her words.  Perhaps we could make it clear to Von Doom exactly whose wrath he would invoke, should this be a ploy.”_

_A smile slowly crossed Thor’s face.  “I like how you think, my brother.”_

_She had ridden before him on Sleipnir, as Thor had flown ahead to the Golden City.  She smelled of synthetic lilies and coconuts, and it had been tempting, too tempting, simply to make her forget Von Doom, forget her duties on Midgard, stay, love me, love me…but there his mother’s teachings hung in his mind; “Amora never finds her happiness because love is not a power that can be forced.  Her obsessions are not love.  Love grows of its own free will, where it will, and to try to cage that power is like raising a hurricane in order to fly a kite.”  And was that not what he had been afraid Doom had done to her?  No. He was a prince, a prince twice over, and he would not stoop to such things._

_Besides.  If he tried, and the spell slipped, he would not know even this much of her, ever again.  Thor would have him publicly whipped, most like, and humiliated beyond belief, perhaps even imprisoned again, or have the sorcerers from Vanaheim strip him of his powers.  It could be done.  That, any and all of that, was inconceivable._

_“You will take this,” Loki told her, holding out a bracelet of surpassing beauty, blue stones glimmering as ice in the firelight of Thor’s rooms.  “It will fit tightly about your wrist; it is meant to be so.  Turn it three times counterclockwise, and you will be transported to the safest place you can imagine.”_

_“Okay.”  Her demure agreement was surprising, and he and Thor shared a glance._

_“Thor and I will accompany you; we will look as illusions to any other sorcerer, including Doom.  Do not tell him we actually are there.  Should he notice us at all, we will disappear to his senses, and leave after we have seen you safe.”_

_“I cannot stay, though I dearly would like to,” Thor interjected.  “My duties as king forbid it.  But Loki, if you would, you could stay upon Midgard.”_

_“My king and brother speaks wisely.  I had thought the same,” Loki agreed smoothly.  “I will stay behind, and you will call me three times a day to let me know you are safe.”_

_Her head bobbed up and down in agreement.  “Yes, okay, I agree, yes.”_

_“You are rarely this deferential,” Loki observed, and noted how she hugged herself, her face wrinkling in worry and fear._

_“I just want to find out why he’s disappeared,” she said after a moment.  “I know I’m swatting a fly with Mew-Mew here, I know I went overboard, I just -- I’m really glad you guys aren’t mad…”_

_“No.  No, we aren’t angry,” he hastened to reassure her.  “Concerned, yes, for Von Doom is not one known for his sincerity in the matters of the heart, nor for heroics performed without benefit to himself.”_

_“Well, gotta look at it this way, too; he doesn’t know I’m connected to you guys, or to New Asgard, as tightly as I am,” she half-laughed.  “If he’s got an ulterior motive, it’ll definitely show now, for sure.”_

_“So it will.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

LORD DOOM.  YOU MUST AWAKEN.  HER HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DARCY IS HERE.

“Princess?”  He struggled to make the words make sense, shoving weakly at his blankets.  “Darcy?”

PRINCESS DARCY OF NEW ASGARD, ACCOMPANIED BY KING THOR AND PRINCE LOKI.  YOUR LAST ORDERS REGARDING DARCY LEWIS WERE TO KEEP HER SAFE; WE HAVE ALLOWED THE STAFF TO OFFER HOSPITALITY BUT SHE INSISTS ON SEEING YOU, MASTER.

“Of course she --“ he coughed harshly, thick phlegm flying from his throat and lungs.  “Of course she does.  Help me up.  Bring…bring the Laconian armor.  It’s lighter than the others.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS.

 

He couldn’t walk, even in the Laconian armor; the illness was bone deep, and he knew it would take more time to cast off…but he couldn’t appear before Thor and Loki, much less Darcy, in what casual clothing he had.  So the Doppelgangers carried him to the throne room, bringing him a steaming tankard of jewelroot extract tea.  It was disgusting, but it would help strengthen him, at least for a little.  He gestured, and the audience chamber doors opened, Darcy --

Gods and demons, she was a vision in Asgardian dress, he realized, the tight bodice, the long flowing skirts which she lifted now with both hands, running to him, and somehow, somehow he found the strength to stop her, the force field shimmering into place a few feet from his throne.  “Darcy.  No,” he croaked.  “I’m ill.  I won’t let you become ill as well.”

“Victor, no, let me --“

He glanced over her shoulders at Thor and Loki, standing still behind her…”Illusions, Darcy?”

“Oh, that,” she said, and dug a hand into a hidden pocket; Thor and Loki shimmered out of existence.  “Loki insisted.  Victor, please, I’ve been so worried,” she pleaded.

“I would if I could, Svezda.  But you are not Asgardian, or enhanced by any means, and the spores --“ he coughed again, knocking over the tea, sprawling forward, and only the Doppelganger beside him grabbing him kept him from tumbling from his throne.

“Victor!”  she shrieked, pounding against the force field with both fists, kicking it as well.  “Let me through, let me through --“

“No,” he managed to gasp out.  “No.  I’m likely contagious, Darcy, and I won’t risk you.”  The Doppelganger helped him sit upright.  “You are…” he had to pause to gather breath again.  “You are a most welcome guest in Castle Doom, and I am glad beyond measure to see you.  But I can’t let you come any closer.”  She slumped against the barrier, holding herself up with her hands, before finally standing straight again.

“If you insist,” she said softly, her shoulders slumped, eyes downcast.

“Only until I’m sure I’m not contagious,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, the Doppelganger coming to his side.  He leaned heavily on the robot, down the three steps to the floor, to just opposite where she stood.  “I was afraid, for a little, that I would not see you again.”  She lifted her face to his, tears staining her cheeks.  “And here you are.  And apparently you can command the Bifrost.”

“Thor named me Princess a few years ago,” she said, shrugging.  “I don’t trade in on it often.  Nobody except Jane knew it until last night.”

“Why?” 

“Oh, I’m morganatic as hell,” she grinned, lifting one of the heavy silver sleeves to wipe her face.  “It…it has to do with how Odin changed the law to adopt Loki.  Basically, Thor called me baby sister in front of the court, that made me a member of the royal family by adoption.”  She shrugged again.  “I can ask Heimdall to open the Bifrost whenever I like.  I can collect a salary from my province.  I can do lots of things, I choose not to.  New Asgard’s had more than enough trials without my getting involved in it and swept up in any intrigue.”

“I see.”  He wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her skin under his fingers again, as he had before…but he didn’t dare.  Not now.  Not yet.  “You are, as I said, a very welcome guest here for as long as you like.”

“Awesome.  Then get ready for as much chicken matzoh soup as you can handle,” she said, laying one hand flat against the force field between them.  “What’s wrong, Victor?  What kind of sickness is it?”

“I…don’t know,” he had to admit.  “But it’s worse than I thought.  DU?”

“DU-3645, LORD DOOM.”

“Mass broadcast command, protocol emerald command.”

“WORKING: MASS BROADCAST COMMAND ENGAGED.”

“Princess Darcy of New Asgard has the welcome of Latveria, and may come and go as she pleases, save for any matters of national security.”

“Awesome, do I get the wi-fi password, too?”  She muttered, and he had to stifle a chuckle.

“The guest wing is being prepared?”

“YES, LORD DOOM.”

“Every courtesy.  Every kindness.”

“AS DOOM COMMANDS.”

“End transmission.”  He waited another few seconds before speaking again.  “Darcy.  I’ll see what can be done, but please, respect my wishes.  It would…I would be grieved to know that you grew ill because of me.”

“Okay,” she sighed.  “Okay.  You should probably go back to bed.”

“I should.”  He laid his gauntleted hand against hers, the force field separating them.  “But I am glad to have you here, Darcy.  You’ve no idea how just seeing you has lightened my heart.”

“Aww, Victor…” she sniffled.  “I want to hug you and I can’t.  You owe me a hug.”

“And when I am well, I will pay it with interest.  Go, now.  Please.  Explore the castle; most rooms will be open to you, though some remain closed.”

“I’ll go find a kitchen, at least.  Good soup takes time.”  She leaned up on her tiptoes, kissed at him.  “Get well, Victor.”

“I have more impetus too now, certainly.”  Another Doppelganger unit entered the throne room, standing at attention beside the door.  “That unit will be your guide and your guard until I am well enough to join you.”

She turned her head, eyes blazing, to look at the Doppelganger holding him up.  “If you get any worse…”

“You’ll be informed.”

Her nose and lips wrinkled, he could tell she didn’t want to do as he asked, but she did, reluctantly, back away, her eyes never leaving his until she was just before the door.  She curtsied, then allowed the Doppelganger beside her to guide her out of the throne room.

“Which designation is that unit?”  He asked the one beside him.

“DU-801.”

“It’s fully upgraded?”

“YES, LORD DOOM.”

“Excellent.”  He shifted, allowing the robot to take more of his body weight.  “Back to my rooms, then.”

“AS DOOM COMMANDS.”

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

“Wait, hang on,” Tony said, crossing his arms.  “Artoo’s a Princess?  She doesn’t dress like one, she doesn’t act like --“

“Darcy is who and what she is, and that is a joy to know and a delight to call sister,” Loki interrupted him, one eyebrow raised archly.  “What you must understand, Mr. Stark, is that Asgard has a long and storied history when it comes to what is called fostering.  We often have kept the royal scions of Vanaheim and Alfheim in our halls, and the laws among the three closest realms regarding fostering mean that one’s foster child is to be as that child’s parent, or brother, or sister in all but blood.  Thor named Darcy as his Lightning Sister on multiple occasions before the entire Court; by our law, that names her as his, as our, adopted sister, complete with title; she is Princess Darcy Anna Lewis of Midgard and New Asgard, Countess of Skaarsgard, Wielder of Lightning.  She wasn’t worthy of Mjolnir by any means, but the hammer did have some fondness for her, I’m sure of it.”

“Countess, even,” Tony shook his head.  “Damn.  And she’s in Doomstadt right now?”

“She insisted; I…” Loki smirked.  “Thor and I accompanied her, with an added flourish of magic to make it look to Doom as if we were illusions.  She seemed safe enough, and should she have need of us, she will call for us.  She has a trinket that will transport her to safety at a moment’s notice, she need only use the correct sequence.”

“You got a magic trick past -- damn, I’m glad you’re on our side now,” Tony sighed.  “You’d better be, anyway.  We still have a Hulk.”

“As I am well aware.”  Loki nodded to Dr. Banner, sitting down the table.  “From the little I was able to glean before I left, Victor seems to be in a bad way.  He’s very ill, I’m not sure with what; but his breathing was heavily labored, his core temperature was almost certainly higher than normal for humans, and he would not allow Darcy to approach him, going so far as to erect a force field around his throne to stop her.”

“Oh, no,” the lovely, auburn haired lady beside Mr. Stark breathed.  “That’s not good.  That’s not good at all.”

“Is it not?”  Loki asked with a brittle smile.  “It has been some time since I’ve been on Midgard, ‘tis true, but last I visited, Von Doom was not seen as an ally by the Avengers.”

“You’re not the only guy who can turn a new leaf,” Stark replied, eyes narrowing.  “But I’m sure you heard it from Darce.”

“So I did,” Loki agreed easily, rocking back on his heels.  “But that could well have been the outlook of an infatuated person, who at the time can see no more of their beloved’s faults than a blind man the sun.  You and the other Avengers are not so; you can tell what you know with an unbiased heart.”  Now Loki leaned forward, hot on the trail of truth and lies.  “Darcy is dear to New Asgard, dear to Thor, and dear to me, and I would know of a certainty that Von Doom is not playing her a falsehood.  She would not be the first, after all, to succumb to such.”

Steve Rogers’ head crashed down on his folded arms, and everyone in the room looked at him oddly.  “It’s nothing.  It’s nothing.  I just can’t believe --“ his voice sounded, muffled until he lifted his head.  “I’m agreeing with Loki.  What’s next?  Are pigs going to fly?”

“Not likely.  And I, at least, did not tell a woman grown that she could not possibly know her own mind in the matter,” Loki replied, looking down at his nails; he needed a manicure while he was on Midgard, that was a certainty.  “You should count yourself very lucky, Captain Rogers, that Thor had to resume his duties as King of New Asgard before he could come pay you a friendly visit.  Perhaps challenge you to a spar.  As it is, I will gladly do so.”  His lazy drawl was belied by his wicked smile.  “And I must insist that it be recorded.  For training purposes.”

“Oh, I’ll take you on any day, son,” Steve began, half-standing until Sam pulled him back down into his seat. 

“Later,” Loki promised.  “But please; I ask not just as a concerned brother, but as the Prince and Advisor of New Asgard, in reference to a princess.  Though she is morganatic, still, a binding relationship with Doom would tie us, in some form, to him politically.  I, for one, do not wish to see my planet and people bound to him, should he still be the man I have known.”  The thoughtful faces of the Avengers and a few of the support staff, Dr. Cho, Stark’s lady, Dr. Foster, Dr. Ross…Loki read each countenance in turn, and waited for their answers.

“According to Darcy’s own report, written before she ever met him in the flesh, he’s on the level,” Stark said at last.  “According to everything I’ve seen of him over the last few months, he’s definitely not the same man I knew, the same man I fought, a few years ago.  He disappeared for a while, but since he’s come back, he’s been different.  He hasn’t even attacked the F4 in what, two years?”

“Something like that,” Doctor Banner agreed, taking off his glasses and rubbing them with a cloth.  “If it were anyone else, I’d suspect some sort of religious or spiritual insight.”

“And because Doctor Doom is Doctor Doom, you don’t think so.”  Loki’s voice fell flat. 

“I didn’t say that.”  Doctor Banner looked up, one eyebrow rising.  “I have no doubt that even he is capable of finding such an experience.  What surprises me is that he seems to have opened himself to it, and more, implemented material changes as well as spiritual and personal ones.  Anyone can have a vision of Mary; not everyone can become Joan of Arc.  That takes a dedication, a solemnity and fervency of purpose, that’s beyond most people.”

“You’ve met Victor Von Doom, haven’t you, Doctor?”  Loki smirked.  “That man is more driven than any other Midgardian I have ever met.  Quite possibly the most driven person, period.  One he sets his mind to achieving a goal, he will.  No matter what it costs him personally, no matter what it costs anyone.  The question I am asking is whether you, as the Avengers, believe that his current path is one that would gain traction by tricking Darcy into being his paramour.”

“No.”  The voice came from behind him, a woman’s voice, clipped and cold, and he knew who it was before he turned his head.  The Black Widow closed the door behind her, coming to stand behind Captain Rogers.  “You haven’t seen what I have just seen, and you do not have the clearance for me to explain it.  However, I can tell you that he has just intervened between a creature capable of killing thousands, devastating cities, wreaking havoc, and blighting half of Ukraine.  He did so at great personal cost; the target was SHIELD threat level 14, if that tells all of you anything,” she cast her glance over the rest of the group, causing Stark and his lady to look at each other worriedly.  “And has not been seen since; current intelligence leads us to believe he is at Castle Doom, recovering.”

“And so I can confirm for you, for I have just come from delivering Darcy there,” Loki said, inclining his head in greeting.  “Agent Romanoff.”

“Prince Loki.”  Questions shone in her eyes, he could tell, but he would not repeat himself; she could view the briefing recording that he was sure was being taken.  “I’d like to add this to the balance.  In my experience, and I’ve studied him, off and on, for a variety of reasons throughout the years, Von Doom doesn’t risk himself in schemes or actions that he isn’t sure will ensure a positive outcome.  He’s already paid a high price for hubris in the past; he has refused to pay another.  What I saw him do two, three days ago now, was self-sacrifice beyond what I knew Victor Von Doom to be capable of.”

“Then you have the advantage over all of them, Agent Romanoff, and I put the question to you; does New Asgard have anything to fear regarding the possibility of a permanent relationship between Princess Darcy and Lord Protector Von Doom?”  Loki pressed.  Black Widow’s lips pressed firmly together, her gaze dropping for a moment, before she met his own again.

“I do not foresee any…unwelcome complications for New Asgard at this time, Prince Loki, but I can’t predict the future.”

“Thank you, Agent Romanoff.  Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Stark, and all of you for coming together on such short notice.  New Asgard appreciates your cooperation in this matter.”  Loki nodded briefly at Stark, and teleported away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He rematerialized in his apartment in New Orleans, knowing that he had left the Avengers in a bit of a tizzy, and smiling to himself at the thought before picking the house phone off of its charger base and calling Darcy’s cell. 

“Hey,” she said, a little briskly.  “What’s up?  I’m making matzoh.”

“I’m just calling to check in, as per our agreement,” he said easily.  “Three times a day, Darcy.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry, gimme two seconds.”  Her voice went slightly distant, and he knew she was speaking to someone else.  “Um, do me a favor?  Tell the nice cook ladies that I said please don’t mess with this, I have to take this call, it’s my brother.”

“AS YOUR GRACE COMMANDS.”  The robotic voice made Loki smirk.  Doom even had his robots dancing attention on her?  Good.  It was no less than she deserved, silly thing.

“I’m going out in the garden to get better reception.  You don’t have to follow me, just keep me in line of sight, ‘kay?”  Footsteps on stone, he knew that sound, and then she was back.  “So!” she sighed into the receiver.  “So this um, this wasn’t one of my most well thought out ideas, but it wasn’t a bad one?”

“Do tell.”

“He’s sick, Lokes.   I mean…” a sharp indrawn breath, he could almost see the tears beginning to gather in her eyes.  “He’s sick.  And I don’t know what’s wrong, but he coughed so hard he almost fell down.  While he’d let me see him, I’m not -- I don’t --“

“Shh, systir, it is well, it will be well,” Loki tried to comfort her.  “I know Victor Von Doom, Darcy.  This will pass.”

“It’s bad,” she sighed.  “It’s really, really bad.”

“Did he keep you from coming near after we left?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, the -- the force field stayed up the entire time, I couldn’t -- he wouldn’t -- he said he didn’t want me to get sick too, because I’m not enhanced or Asgardian, well, other than the suit and the magic, neither is he!”

“True.”  Victor was very much human without his suit, though Loki would not put it past him to have tried, at least, to prepare himself if whatever he faced was so powerful a creature.  “But I am sure his robots and servants are caring for him very well.”

“And that’s another thing,” she went on.  “The cooks and the human servants, they keep looking at me like they’re afraid I’m going to lose my shit on them for anything at all, I’m not anybody here, I don’t have that kind of power, and I wouldn’t -- I wouldn’t -- even if I did --“

“Of course not,” he interrupted to soothe her.  “And once they know you for the silly goose that I do, they will fear you no more.  It took you only a few days to enchant the Asgardian Court, after all.”

“That was more a bunch of prigs laughing at the stupid Midgardian than anything else,” she said, but he heard the smile in her voice.  “Seriously.  I’m worried.”

“You should be.  I don’t know exactly what he fought, but he was every bit a hero, Darcy.  That much, I have from the Black Widow herself.”  He grit his teeth, closing his eyes as he admitted it, going on after a breath to say, “You should be proud of your chosen.”

“I am proud.  I’m beyond proud.  But he’s still gonna get his ass reamed for putting himself in danger without calling me first.”  That shocked a laugh out of Loki; he could just see it, once Doom was on the mend, Darcy with one hand on her hip, the other wagging at him as she spoke.  He himself had quailed in the face of her wrath, he had no doubt that Doom would, as well.  Nothing angered a woman more than knowing one she cared for deliberately had placed himself in danger’s path.

“I would pay to see that,” he admitted.  “I will let you get back to your stress cooking; remember to call me before you go to sleep.”

“Sure.  Thanks, Lokes.”

“And keep your trifle near you.”

“It’s in my pocket.”

“Good.  Until later, systir.”

“Loki?”

“Yes?” 

“Really.  Thank you, Loki.  I’m sure I’m screwing up a million different plans, so, thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, as your friend, and my duty, as your sworn brother, to help you, Darcy.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a pain in the ass, and that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say thank you.”

“How very true.  You’re welcome.  Until later.”

“Sure.  Bye.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens...


	16. Chapter 16

She texted Loki while the soup simmered.  “Hey.  If I have somebody pack a bag for me, would you do me a favor and send it here?”  He answered a few seconds later, a suitcase shimmering into view a few feet away as her phone chimed.

“Already taken care of.”

“Thank you.  Chocolate chip cookies next time we’re hanging out?”

“Please.”

“Consider it done.”

Grinning, she untied the apron one of the cooks had pressed on her and took it off before looking at the robot.  “Hey.  Do me a favor.  Tell the nice ladies not to mess with the soup or the matzoh.  I’ll take care of it.  Then, if you’d show me to my rooms, I’ll get changed and come back to finish it.”

OF COURSE, YOUR GRACE.  It spoke to the cooks, who nodded, dropping her a curtsy as it gave her a half bow, extending one arm to the door.  IF YOU WOULD CARE TO FOLLOW ME.  She did, up a winding stone staircase, down a long windowed gallery to a heavy wooden door.  THESE ARE YOUR ROOMS FOR THE DURATION OF YOUR STAY.  SHOULD YOU DESIRE ANYTHING, YOU NEED ONLY TELL ONE OF US.

“Thanks…” she paused.  “Do you have a name, ‘Bot-dude?”

THIS UNIT IS DESIGNATED AS DU-801.

“Um.  Okay.  How about…can I call you Guy?  Short for Guide?  ‘Cause I don’t do well with remembering numbers,” she asked, and the robot’s head tilted slightly quizzically, just as Victor’s did when she had tried to explain something to her.  Wow.  They really were based on him.

THIS UNIT DOES NOT KNOW OF ANY REASON WHY NOT, YOUR HIGHNESS.

“Oh, God.  Okay.  Um.  Yeah, I don’t…like, the titles?  The titles are awesome and everything and I appreciate them, but they kind of freak me out, so, can we go with Darcy?  Or Miss Lewis.  Just, my name.  That’ll get my attention a lot quicker than Your Grace, or Your Highness, or Princess.”

LORD DOOM WILL HAVE TO APPROVE THAT CHANGE TO OUR PROGRAMMING; WE ARE ORDERED TO USE THE HONORIFIC FOR ANYONE WHO HAS A LEGITIMATE TITLE.

“Okay, no, I get that, I’ll ask him about it next time I see him.  Um.  Guy? How sick is he?”

YOUR HIGHNESS DOES NOT HAVE THE AUTHORIZATION NECESSARY FOR THIS UNIT TO INFORM HER OF LORD DOOM’S CONDITION.

“Shit,” Darcy sighed, then nodded.  “Okay.  Thanks, Guy.  See you in about ten minutes.”

 

The rooms were beautiful.

The sitting room, or entertaining area, whichever one would call it, was paneled in a lovely golden wood, natural light coming through a set of French doors.  The furniture was obviously antique, in the French Country style, the upholstery a warm tan, not quite gold, that went very well with the paneling.  Landscapes hung on the walls, depicting what she assumed were scenes of the Latverian countryside.  Walking through to the bedroom, she found it done in off-white and soft blue, again, French Country furniture, the bed with a slightly rounded headboard, a vanity and dresser also in white, as well as a small desk and chair.  “Oh, this is lovely…”

She changed into a blouse and jeans, slid her feet into sneakers, tied her hair back, slipped her phone into her pocket, and went back out to meet with Guy.  “Okay,” she said, grinning.  “Now I can finish up, because I was not making matzoh balls in that dress.”

IT WOULD LIKELY NOT BE PRUDENT, the robot agreed, and led her back down to the kitchens again. 

 

 

 

“I can hear your lungs from here, sire,” Dr. Liepa said as he entered Victor’s bedroom.  “Pneumonia, certainly.”

“I had already assumed that,” Victor said irritably.  “And I have already begun a course of amoxicillin.”

“Excellent.”  Dr. Liepa went through his examination efficiently, shaking his head as he took his stethoscope out of his ears.  “Pneumonia.  Also some form of virus, which must run its course, I am afraid.”

“Virus?”

“Yes.  Of course your energy will be sapped from both illnesses…”

“Of course,” Victor answered.  “When will I no longer be contagious, then?  Any ideas?”

“When you have no fever for forty-eight hours consecutively,” Dr. Liepa answered.  “I cannot say when that will be.”

Grumpily, Victor nodded, slumping slightly in his armchair and waving his hand, and the doctor was escorted from his bedroom as another Doppelganger Unit entered, bearing a silver tray with a steaming tureen.  WITH HER HIGHNESS’ COMPLIMENTS, AND HOPES OF YOUR ENJOYMENT.

“She actually did it,” he muttered as the tray was placed on the side table.  “She actually made chicken soup.”

WITH MATZOH, the unit added, and he looked up.  SHE SEEMED VERY INTENT THAT THERE BE MATZOH.

Slowly, Victor shook his head, chuckling lowly.  “Is the Princess comfortable?”

SHE SEEMS TO BE MAKING HERSELF AT HOME.  SHE HAS ALREADY ASKED FOR PRIMARY LESSONS IN LATVERIAN.

“You may begin teaching her; go slowly until you ascertain her ability.”  Victor removed the silk hood, rearranged himself, and began to eat.  It was hot, the broth thick and golden.  “Has she requested anything?  Is there anything she needs, wants?  Clothing?  She came in Asgardian court dress, I did not see any baggage…”

PRINCE LOKI SENT A SUITCASE FOR HER.  SHE HAS REQUESTED SEVERAL THINGS.  NOT TO BE REFERRED TO BY HONORIFICS; SHE SAYS SHE IS NOT USED TO THEM.  SHE WOULD RATHER THE UNITS REFER TO HER BY NAME, OR MISS LEWIS.

“That…doesn’t surprise me,” Victor said, a slight smile creeping over his face.  “Very well.  As she likes.”

SHE HAS ALSO REQUESTED TO KNOW YOUR CONDITION, SIRE.

“You may inform her that I am ill, but will endeavor to spend some time with her later this evening, though a force field must remain in place until I am no longer contagious.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS.

 

 

Darcy’s phone rang, and she picked up without looking, keeping her focus on the page of the book she was reading.  “Hey.”

“Artoo!”  Tony’s voice came through.  “We got a visit from long, tall and greasy a little while ago, I’m just calling to confirm -- you’re okay?”

“I’m great,” Darcy answered, grinning.  “Everything’s copacetic here.  Though it looks like rain, maybe.  Dunno.”  An audible sigh of relief answered her.

“Good.  Great.  Fantastic.  Now do us all a favor and get your princess ass home.”

“No can do, boss, I’m improving the Avengers’ public persona in Latveria.”

“Darcy.”  All traces of teasing and fun dropped from Tony’s voice.  “I’m not kidding.  You need to come home.”

“What’s up?”  She asked, and Tony was quiet.  “Tony.  Seriously.  What’s wrong?”

“Trump fired Rex Tillerson,” he said at last.  “He’s appointing the ex-CIA guy, I don’t remember his name, but Darce…”

“Shit.  Are you serious?”  Darcy squealed. 

“Yeah.  Let’s just say I’m in the market for an island.  A nice big island.  Somewhere secret.  Maybe your boyfriend can ask his bestie if he knows of any.” 

“Genosha’s on the market.  No, seriously, Tony --“

“Darcy, listen.  I don’t know how long it’s gonna take the CIA guy to get in the job, but I promise you about two seconds after he’s confirmed, Latveria is going to be looked at like South Korea.”

“They can’t!  They wouldn’t dare, not after everything Victor’s done to improve his image, to improve the country’s image!”  Darcy exclaimed, standing from her chair and walking quickly to the door of her rooms.  “Tony, I -- look, Victor’s sick, he’s really, really sick, I’ve only seen him for like, two minutes…”

“I can’t help it, Darce.  I’m not even sure you can come back in the country on a direct flight from Latveria already.”

“I don’t need a flight,” Darcy said, looking down at her bracelet…or Loki would come and get her, she was sure…  “Give me two days.  Please, Tony.  Two days.  Nobody knows I’ve left the country, nobody will know I’ve come back.”

“You don’t need -- gonna taste the rainbow again, Princess?  And don’t think we won’t be talking about that, Your Highness.”

“Tony, I swear to God,” Darcy sighed. 

“Funny, you don’t look Druish.”

“Shut up.  Two days.  I’ll be home in two days, I promise, but I can’t…I just got here…”

“I know.  And I know…I don’t know why you were worried, but you must have been worried as hell to go to the extremes of calling down the Bifrost.  So I know you were worried.  I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get left overseas or locked up in some black box prison because you’re consorting with the enemy.”

“Latveria is not our enemy.”

“I know that.  You know that.  But I don’t know who’s dripping poison into Donald’s ear, or what kind, and I know for a fact that a lot of the secret agent types, the bad guy secret agent types, have looked at Latveria for the last thirty years as a sort of a USSR satellite.  So.  Not to mention, your boyfriend is high on Vladdy’s shit list right now, and we all know that when Vladdy says suck it, Don hits his knees.”

“Oh, Christ, Tony, are you trying to make me throw up?  That’s an image I didn’t need at all in my head.”

“Sorry not sorry, Darce.  Two days.  Then get your ass home.”  The line clicked dead, and she closed her eyes, then squared her shoulders and opened the door. 

“Hey, Guy.  Bad news, buddy, we’re gonna have to bug Victor.”

 

 

“…Mike Pompeo is being put forward as President Trump’s choice to take the place of Former Secretary Tillerson…” Darcy followed Guy into an office, every wall covered with monitors, all tuned to various news channels; that was the BBC, she assumed from the carefully modulated tone of the announcer.  Victor -- yes, it was Victor, she was sure, sat on a throne in the center, a desk nearby covered with papers.  It had been maybe half an hour since she’d sent the message through Guy that apparently the Donald had gone off the damn deep end, but he already looked tired, his shoulders slumped under the armor, his posture, usually stiff and correct, was boneless, the throne obviously supporting him rather than him sitting in it.

“Bring a chair for Miss Lewis,” he ordered.  “Darcy.  What is this madness?”

“I don’t know,” she said with an honest shrug.  “It’s insane.  The State Department was already running without enough people to fill the positions, they’ve already cut so much funding…I’m starting to wonder if he’s actively trying to ruin my country.”

“I’m beginning to wonder the same,” he sighed, crooking two fingers.  “Closer.  As close to the force field as you can bring it, I want her close.”

AS DOOM COMMANDS.  Guy brought the chair from behind the desk right up to the foot of the throne, and Darcy sat down, her phone in her hand, reading Twitter.

“He fired him on Twitter.  That’s the second one,” she muttered.  “He fired Priebus that way, too.  According to Fire and Fury --“

“According to Fire and Fury, Priebus had just spoken with him.  I know,” Victor agreed.  “I read it.  I have read every book available about President Trump.  None of them paint him in a flattering light.”

“Because there isn’t one?”  Darcy snorted.  “I can’t.  I just -- Tony said he wants me to come home, because this new guy, Pompeo, used to be the CIA director, and he’s worried that they won’t let me across the border again.”

“Is that your concern, as well?”  He asked, and Darcy shook her head furiously, hair flying.

“I’m worried about you,” she said fervently.  “I can hitch a ride with Loki, probably, or ask to use the Bifrost again, or call Storm and see if Nightcrawler can come hop me home.  Worst comes to worst, if you’ll leave me at the border, I can find my way to an embassy --“

“None of that is necessary.  I will see you home safely, Darcy, of that you have my word.  But what should I, and Latveria, expect from this change?  That is the question.”  He shoved himself upright, leaning forward, tired brown eyes intent on her own.  “I don’t want to go to war with the United States.  Diplomatic or overt.  Conflict has been my life, and I am done with it.  Done.”

“Then…if I were you, I’d have my ambassadors making calls in the various European capitals,” she began.  “Berlin, Paris, London, Brussels, Madrid, Rome.  Hell, even London, Theresa seems to be getting her head out of her ass with the whole…poisoning thing happening.  I can’t tell you what your diplomacy program needs to be, other than ensuring that your ties to the European powers need to be strong, very strong.”

“Those steps have already been taken,” he assured her.  “Tell me.  What does the normal citizen of the United States know of Latveria?”

“Um.”  She frowned, looking down at her hands twisting together on her lap.  “About as much as they do Bosnia or the Czech Republic?  Which is to say, not much at all.  The average U.S. citizen doesn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the rest of the world, Victor.  We’re a very ignorant country, honestly, and some of that is American arrogance, and some of it is a narrow minded education system, and some of that is just…you know, when you’re working two and three jobs just to keep a roof over your head, you don’t tend to spend a lot of time thinking about other countries.  There’s lots of factors.”

“So there are.  But would your countrymen support a war against a small landlocked country --“

“Led by a man who has attempted to take over the world on several different occasions,” Darcy interrupted him.  “A man who has proprietary technologies the United States drools over.  A man who up until a couple of years ago, was seen as a despot.  Who has controlled education, emigration, and has been known to act as a Big Brother type to his own country.  I don’t think we’d be all gung ho let’s go about it, Victor, but I don’t think you’d get very many protests on your behalf, either.  Hire a publicist.  Hire a dozen.  And some lobbyists, too.  See who in Washington you can bribe.  Because it’s…I don’t think Congress would actively declare war?  But as we’ve seen in the past, they don’t have to anymore.”  She paused, gathered her thoughts, and continued.

“They’ll use your past against you, of course, in their propaganda.  But it won’t really be about that.  If they move against Latveria, it’ll be because they want to get their hands on your toys, Victor, because I have seen SHIELD tech, and I have seen Hydra tech, and I have seen Stark tech, and some of your old stuff, the stuff I’ve seen on TV, was better than any of the former.  They’ll come to steal your stuff, and if they can “spread democracy” while they’re doing it, well, more’s the better.  And with the way the Donald is sucking up to Putin…”

“And I am most certainly not his favorite person at the moment.”

“No.  Most definitely not,” she agreed.

“And so there may be a bit of a cross and doublecross game to be had; you attack my enemy so I can take Ukraine, Romania, Belarus and Poland, and I will allow you the spoils of war.  But they have no idea of Latveria’s defensive positions.  They could drop a nuclear bomb.  Our force fields would dissipate it.  All that would do is cast death over the rest of Eastern Europe, and enrage the rest of the world.”

“I don’t think Donald cares.”

“And that is what makes him dangerous,” Victor replied.  “I have been that man who feared no consequences, Darcy.  And I do not wish to be him again, but if your country declares war on mine, overt or covert, I will hold nothing back to defend Latveria.”  Darcy said nothing, only looked down at her hands.  “It is my country.  My people.”

“What do you want me to say?”  She asked softly.  “I’m not going to sit here and tell you not to do whatever you have to do to defend yourself or your country, Victor.  You have to do what you have to do.  And I understand that.  I’m sitting here hoping that we’re just…that none of this is necessary.  Maybe Mueller will start moving a little faster so Donald has to resign, I mean at least Pence is a politician, he understands the necessity of diplomacy, and I don’t think he’s as tight with Putin as the Donald.  He’ll be hell on wheels when it comes to our personal freedoms, especially when it comes to gay and women’s rights, but better that, we can fight that on Capitol Hill, than for us to go to war with anyone else.”

“True.  Well.”  Victor sank back in his throne again.  “When do you wish to leave?”

“Two days.  I told Tony I’d be home in two days.”

“That is better news than I expected; I had thought…”

“I just got here,” she said, just as she’d told Tony.  “I want to spend at least a little time with you.  I know you’re sick, but…”

“Of course.  In the morning; I find the rest of my evening will likely be quite busy.  And thank you, Darcy, for informing me as soon as you heard of it.  My ambassador had just called as DU-801 came in with your message.”  He stood, and so did she; obviously the audience was over.  “I wish I did not have to take these precautions,” he said softly as he laid his hand against the force field between them as he had earlier.  “But my own physician has said that at least one of my current illnesses is a virus, and I do not wish you to become sick as well.”

“Get better,” she said, leaning forward snake quick to kiss at the palm of his glove.  “That’s all I want.”

“It is maddening, to have you here and not be able to show you personally the beauty of Latveria,” he admitted.  “To be unable to touch you.”

“Oh, I agree.  Soon, though.”

“Soon.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back in the USA...and Madripoor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> Sorry this has taken so long, and sorry it's so short, but here's hoping the wheels in my head will turn a little faster for the next installment.

_“Tony?”_

_“Yeah, Jenn, what’s up?”_

_“Ben Grimm’s at my house.  He wants to talk to you, but…he didn’t have your number, and he’s…I think he’s worried about Reed.”_

_“I’ll be there in ten.  Want me to bring anybody else?”_

_“No.  Just you, Tony.”_

He checked his schedule, left a message for Pepper, and left the Tower, catching a cab from a block away to take him over to Jenn’s.  He didn’t deal well with the subway anymore.  Jennifer answered the door in a half shirt and jeans, smiling, though there was worry in her eyes.  “Hey, gorgeous.”  Tony leaned up to kiss her cheek hello, and entered her apartment.  Shabby chic, distressed bronze and weathered white clapboards and wicker with cushions, were her motif, fresh flowers in vases around the living room.

And the ever-loving Blue Eyed Thing sitting on the floor, a tent-like trenchcoat draped over his shoulders, looking down at his stone feet.  “Hey ya, Stark,” he rumbled, his voice as gravelly as the rest of him, the orange stone that made up his body these days seeming slightly dull, though he was in the middle of a sunbeam.

“Hey, Ben.  How’s it going?”  Tony dropped into criss-cross applesauce across from the big guy.  “You know whenever you’re ready for me to introduce you to my tailor, I’m all about it.”  That drew a sardonic chuckle from Ben, but that was all. 

“One’a these days, I ever get some scratch, might take you up on that.”

“You should.  There’s no need for you to do…this,” Tony gestured at the bright blue spandex briefs and trenchcoat.  “I mean, Jesus, even Namor wears Hugo Boss.  Even Sabretooth wears clothes, Ben.”

“Yeh.  I’ll think about it.”  Ben’s hands were twisting in his lap, his gaze fixed on them under the rocky protuberances that were his eyebrows.  “I don’t check email or phones or nothin’ much,” he said after a second.  “S hard, with my mitts.”

“Right, I can see how it might be an issue,” Tony agreed, leaning back on his arms. 

“Reed’s always promisin’ he’s gonna do somethin’ about it.  He ain’t yet.  It’s been twenny years.  Christ.”  Now the big head rose, bright, bright blue eyes looking sadly at Tony.  “Twenny years, Stark.”

“I know.”  Tony nodded.  “I know.”

“Sucks.  I can’t…I mean, I like helpin’ folks.  I like bein’ useful.  But you’d think, maybe, after twenty years, he’d’a come up with somethin’ ta where I could switch back an’ forth like Johnny, even if it’s just for a little while at a time.”

“I…I don’t know what he’s tried, Ben, and I don’t know…I don’t know how to fix you.  I know people who would love to work with Reed on it, but he’s never asked them.  Helen Cho, Bruce and Betty, we can call in specialists from New Asgard…but we have to be asked for help,” Tony said slowly.  “The offer’s out there.”

“He don’t wanna,” came the low, near growling, answer.  “He don’t wanna work with anybody about it.  An’ I don’t think he’s worked on it in mebbe ten years?  That’s the last time he tried anything, anyway.  That ain’t the point right now, though.”  The barrel chest rose and fell as the Thing took a deep, deep breath.  “Point is, I din’t see the video you sent everybody ‘till last week.  Johnny showed me.” 

“Oh, I see.  Yeah.  Yeah, that was a hell of a day.”  Tony sat up again.  “There an issue?”

“Victor’s a dick, was when we was all in school, pro’lly still is.  But it ate me up, seein’ him act like a hero, and Reed…”

“Reed willing to go right through me to get to him?  Yeah, Ben,” Tony sighed.  “Yeah, it was a hell of a day.”

“Yeh.  An’ what Reed said about the robots.  Folks died.  Folks got hurt.  An’ we weren’t…we weren’t mobilized.  We coulda helped.  Suzie coulda done her force fields, isolated the robots so the explosions were contained, Reed coulda helped figure out how to stop the damn things, I coulda stomped’em, Johnny coulda burned the circuits to a crisp.”  Grimm’s shoulders rose and fell.  “An’ we didn’t hear nothin’ about it till Vic showed up.  Reed told us he was here, keep Sue safe, and he was gone.”

“I wondered why you and Johnny, at least, weren’t with him,” Tony agreed. 

“He’s…not…himself.  Over the last year or two.  Got real paranoid, ‘specially when it comes ta Vic an’ Namor.  Was a time, Tony, was a time when those robots woulda showed up, we’d all have been right out there with ya.  You gotta know that.”

“I do,” Tony agreed. 

“So don’t be sore at all of us.  Be sore at Reed.  He’s th’ one…in charge, I guess.  I ain’t smart, Johnny, Johnny’s just not…he ain’t made to be a leader, an’ Suzie don’t wanna lead nothin’.  But.  She saw the video too.  An’ she got pissed.  Well and truly pissed.  Went off on him hard.  An’ he just blew it all off, it wasn’t worth the Four’s time, he said.  Well folks died, why the hell are we the Fantastic Four if we ain’t gonna help folks?  He din’t say nothin’.  Just…just stood there for a second before he said, well Susan, if you don’t like the way I’m handling things, you know where the door is.  And she just…she packed up herself an’ Franklin an’ left.  Went up to Westchester.  Xavier called me.”  Powerful fists clenched tight, tight enough the stone squealed, then released again, orange powder drifting in the sun.  “I don’t wanna be a member of the Four no more.  You got a slot open for another Avenger?”

“You know Doom’s dating one of our support staff, right?”  Tony said when he could talk again.  “He comes to the Tower every now and then.”

“I can be civil if Vic can.”

“He’s been nothing but since the day of the robots.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, that’s what Jenny said.”  Grimm shrugged.  “Sue’s…I don’t think she’s comin’ back.  Johnny, he’s got Crystal now, he can go on and help the Inhumans.  Either way, they wanted to, they could get real jobs.  Me, I can’t do nothin’.  Not like this.”

“If you’re sure this is what you want, Ben, I’ll be happy to talk to the other Avengers and see where we could fit you in,” Tony said after a second.  “But this isn’t a decision I can make on my own.  We’re a team.”

“Sure, I getcha.  You guys gotta vote or whatever.  ‘S fine.” 

“And I want to say something, I want you to listen to me,” Tony said, leaning forward.  “You’ve got some physical disabilities, sure.  But Ben.  You didn’t just go to Empire U for football.  You were a hell of an engineer, once upon a time.  You may have some catching up to do, but consider this; consider the fact that every day, more and more mutants and superhumans seem to be appearing.  Some of which have the same issues you do with body density.  You’re sitting on the floor because you’re afraid you’ll break Jenn’s couch, right?”

“Well, yeah.  It ain’t deep or wide enough ta support the way I am now, not ta mention the structural damage; even if I could fit on it right, ‘s too much weight in…” Ben’s eyes brightened, and he half-grinned, shaking his head.  “I don’t know shit about furniture design, Stark.”

“No?  Sounds like you just described it to me,” Tony smirked.  “Furniture, vehicles, buildings.  I’ve done a little work on stuff like that for Bruce and Jenn here, but they’re not the only ones with this issue.  Neither are you.  And I…” Tony sighed.  “I see the need, but I’m already burning the candle at both ends and the middle.”

“I see what you’re gettin’ at.  Yeh.  We’ll talk about it,” Grimm nodded.  “First things first though.”

“Of course.  I’ll talk to the team, see what --“  A sharp knock on the door interrupted Tony, and Jennifer went to answer it, frowning.

“Namor!”

The Sub-Mariner stepped in, holding out a branch of flowering seaweed, the blooms green and purple and blue.  “Jennifer.  I had missed you --oh.  I had no idea you were already entertaining.”  He nodded curtly at Tony and Ben.

“Hey, Namor.  Ben and I were just leaving,” Tony said, bouncing to his feet, Grimm blinking, then slowly lumbering to his.

“How ya doin’, Wings?”

“Very well, thank you, Grimm.  And yourself?”

“Complainin’ just makes things worse,” Ben shrugged before turning sideways and bending to fit through the front door.  “Thanks, Jenn.  I owe ya.”

“No problem, Ben.  Bye, Tony.”

“Bye, kids.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tony called over his shoulder, already heading for the stairs.  “Meet you at the Tower, Ben.”

“Huh?”

“You were gonna stay with Jenn, right?”

“Uh.  Mebbe.  I hadn’t really decided.”

“Just come to the Tower.  We’ve got room.”

 

 

 

 

Once the others had gone, Jennifer took the branch of flowering seaweed.  “Oh, thank you.  Does it need salt water?”

“Yes.  It is a rare specimen of salt water orchid, unknown by most surface dwellers,” Namor said, watching her appreciatively; the lithe play of her body was always a joy to behold.  “What were Grimm and Stark here for?”

“Um.  It’s…complicated,” Jennifer sighed.  “Basically…basically, Ben’s quitting the Four.”

“What?”  Namor’s jaw dropped as he braced himself against the wall.  “Are you serious?”

“Reed hasn’t been the best of leaders for the Four over the last few months.  Ben doesn’t agree with the way things have gone, so he asked me to call Tony.  I think he’s joining the Avengers now.”

“And what have Johnny and Sue to say of this?”  Namor asked.

“Sue left Reed last week; she called my office yesterday to ask about divorce proceedings.”

“Finally,” Namor huffed, drawing Jennifer close.  “You will do your best for her?”

“You have no idea,” Jennifer breathed.  “That son of a bitch is going to pay through his bendy nose.”

“Excellent.  Now.  Might I interest you, Miss Walters, in a bit of afternoon delight?”

 

Phil sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair, and collapsed back into his office chair.  Damn it.  Damn it.  Damn it.  He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then made himself sit up.  He needed help.  He needed advice.  And the one person he could have gone to was…well, he was so far underground, he might as well be as dead as he pretended to be.  No help for it, though.  He got up, locked his office door, flicked on the electronic scrambler that Daisy had created, then unlocked his safe.  He removed the false bottom and reached through the holographic wall at the back, stretching to reach the satellite phone he kept strictly for emergencies, and dialed.

“ _Nick.  I need a face to face,_ ” he texted.  “ _When/where is good for you?_ ”  The answer wasn’t immediate, but fairly quick.

“ **Madripoor.  Tyger Tyger’s casino.  Baccarat.  3 p.m. local time.** ”  Phil did the math quickly in his head; he could make it.  Just.

“ _Confirmed.  See you then_.”  He replaced the phone, informed Melinda they were heading to Madripoor, and settled into his chair again.  Tapping his fingers against his desk, he frowned before picking up his Starkphone and sending Natasha a message as well.

“ _Clouds are building on the horizon.  Have you seen the weather report?_ ”  Her answer was all but instantaneous.

“I haven’t, but I heard there’s a chance of rain.”

“ _Oh?  From a forecaster?_ ”

“From several farmers.  They would know.”

“Shit,” Phil muttered.  “ _Might want to make sure you’re near a storm cellar then._ ”

“I am.  But Darcy’s out in the field, picking flowers.”  He could feel his pulse pound.  He’d forgotten Natasha’s report about Loki’s arrival…a shudder ran through his frame as he thought about the man who had killed him, but he shook it off with a scowl.

“ _She should be fine,_ ” he tapped out.  “ _Probably the safest she can be on-planet right now._ ”

“True.  And she has a secret storm cellar if she needs it.”

“ _Very true.  I’ll let you know if I hear anything more from the meteorologists._ ”

“Do that.  Same.”  He dropped his phone, shaking his head.  She’d heard some rumbles from her sources.  Not good.  This was not looking good at all.

 

 

Tyger Tyger’s casino wasn’t the biggest in Madripoor by a long shot, but it was one of the few places that information could be passed safely in the crime-ridden city.  The Hand fought constantly with the Prince to take control, but no one crossed the Tyger; she had allies that even the Hand thought twice about enraging. 

He bought chips, played a few hands of pai gow just to keep his hand in, then moved on to baccarat and waited. 

“Cheese?”  He turned at the sound of the word, a lovely young woman offering a cheese tray to him.  She wore a cocktail waitress’ uniform rather than her usual silks and Louboutins, but Tyger Tyger was an old acquaintance, even if she had made herself up younger and even more pale than normal.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he agreed, taking a chunk of gouda. 

“A better selection?  Follow, please.”  She kept up the innocent act as he followed her to a door marked employees only in several languages, dropping it once the door closed behind him.  “Come with me,” she said sharply, shoving the tray into the hands of another woman and moving quickly through the darker hallways.  He kept up, but barely; she would always know this warren better than he did.  Past the kitchens, he could tell from the scent of chilis and garlic, down a short flight of stairs to the working girls’ floor.  She opened a sliding door.  “Twenty minutes.  Best I can do, big pressure on Madripoor these days from CIA and FSG,” she snapped.

“Shouldn’t even need that, Tyger.  Thank you,” Nick Fury’s rumbling bass voice sounded from the dark room.  “Get in here, Cheese, and tell me why I just spent one of my last five favors on your ass.”  Phil stepped in, and Tyger closed the door behind him.  A lamp switched on, red light making strange flickers over Nick’s face.

“You’ve been bitching about your last five favors from Tyger for the last ten years,” Phil said, and Nick snorted.

“Yeah, well, way things are these days, I might really be down to five now.  What’s going on?”

“Trump,” Phil sighed, sinking cross legged onto the cushion across the table from Nick, taking the small bowl of fragrant sake and sipping cautiously.  The sweet rice wine was cheap, but it was good.  “Or I should say, Pompeo behind Ross behind Trump.”

“Shit.”  Nick downed his own wine, shaking his head.  “What does that dumb son of a bitch want?”

“Other than complete and total control of SHIELD?”  Phil asked, and Nick rolled his good eye.  “There’s a strong possibility, according to chatter, that they’re going to initiate some sort of strike against Latveria.”

“After what Doom’s shown us he can do in Ukraine?  After all the shit he’s done with the UN and -- you’ve gotta be goddamn kidding me,” Nick scoffed, and Phil shook his head.

“I’m not kidding.  And his military prowess in Ukraine is one of the reasons they’re going to give.  He’s a powerful dictator with technology and weaponry that we don’t have, and no one really knows what’s going on in Latveria.  They’ll point to his past.  They’ll say it’s a preemptive strike, and they’ll use everything they’ve got.”

“Look,” Nick said after a few seconds of thought, “there’s…we don’t know.  We just don’t know what Latveria’s got, and what they don’t have.  We know they’ve got robot armies.  We know they’ve got personal force fields for their robots, and we know Doom uses one.  We know they’ve got laser rifles, for fuck’s sake, we’d be idiots to try to take them on without any intelligence, and we can’t get intelligence because Doom doesn’t let anybody in his country, and he’s got scrambler satellites up cloaking it from aerial intelligence, too!”

“And that’s stopped this administration before because?”  Phil countered.  “My theory.  Putin is putting pressure on Trump to do something to draw Latveria off the field in Ukraine, because it’s Latveria that’s getting Ukraine over.  If Latveria is busy defending themselves, they can’t --“

“We don’t know how many goddamn robots he’s got,” Nick growled.  “We don’t know how much goddamn armament he has, or what kind of technotricks he’s got up his sleeve.  That’s one of the reasons we’ve always just let the Avengers and the Four deal with his bullshit before, because we, SHIELD, didn’t know what else he had, and if we didn’t know, sure as fuck the CIA didn’t know, and if the CIA didn’t know, the goddamn Army wasn’t gonna move.”

“The Four are disbanding.  Sue left Reed, my intelligence is she’s filing divorce papers.  Johnny’s on the dark side of the moon.  I haven’t had eyes on Grimm, but safe bet is that he’ll either try to go it alone like Spider-Man, or he’ll join another team.  Probably the Avengers; he already knows people there.”  Phil took another sip of sake.  “More news.  Darcy Lewis?  You remember her?”

“Foster’s sidekick.  Yeah,” Nick grunted.  “What about her?”

“She’s apparently a morganatic princess of New Asgard.”  Nick cocked his head at that news, then smirked, opening his mouth.  Phil beat him to the punch.

“And she’s dating Doom.”  Nick stopped in mid-word, eye widening, mouth hanging open.

“Oh, that’s just…no.  New Asgard gets drawn into this, we’re all nine kinds of ways fucked to Sunday.”

“And then they’ll call out the Avengers.  And we’ll go to war with New Asgard, as well.  We’ll go to war with everybody and anybody but the people who are actually threats, who will be watching to see when and where we’re weakest, and when we are…” Phil’s hand, fingers drawn together, rose a few inches into the air, then turned, expanding, to make a sort of mushroom cloud.  Nick nodded.

“Fuck.  Okay.”  He sat silent for a few seconds.  “The Avengers Initiative and SHIELD needs to get out of Dodge.  See if you can get asylum somewhere else before --“ he blinked.  “What about New Asgard?  Shieldbrothers and all that shit?”

“Too far away,” Phil said, shaking his head.

“Genosha?”

“No.  Still too dangerous, and there’s scuttlebutt out there that Magneto may be looking to do something with it.”  Nick frowned, then shrugged.

“I’ll keep an ear out.  I have an idea, I’ll float it by some folks.  For now, you keep the Bus in the air and stay smooth.  Don’t get drawn into bureaucratic bullshit, and don’t go to Washington.”  Nick stood.  “If nothing else, Antarctica is lovely this time of year.”  Phil frowned, but nodded; the Savage Land wasn’t somewhere he really wanted to call home, but if he had to for SHIELD, he would.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calls and arrangements for new alliances are begun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't actually think you were rid of me, did you?

The moment Darcy stepped out of her rooms the next morning, Guy was at her left. LORD DOOM SENDS HIS REGARDS, AND HIS HOPES THAT YOU SLEPT WELL.

“Yeah. Yeah, like the dead, but that was to be expected,” she said, tugging her cardigan a little closer; it was chilly, and all the stone didn’t help. “I’ve crossed like three time zones in the last couple days.”

HE WOULD LIKE TO JOIN YOU DURING YOUR BREAKFAST. IS THAT ACCEPTABLE?  
“Does he have time? I mean, serious shit’s going down, Guy,” she asked.

HE HAS NOT SHARED THAT INFORMATION WITH THIS UNIT, ONLY THAT HE WOULD ENJOY YOUR COMPANY THIS MORNING.

“I’d be delighted. Please tell him so for me.”

CERTAINLY. THIS WAY, MISS LEWIS.

It wasn’t breakfast, but brunch offered on a long, heavy wooden table covered in both breakfast and lunch foods of all kinds. Steaming sliced meats, fresh bread and pastries, fruit, five different kinds of juice, a little woman Darcy recognized from the kitchens the day before standing to the side, an omelette pan and a basket of eggs and crème fraiche beside her with a variety of ingredients, a portable gas burner in front of her. “All this just for me?” Darcy muttered as she made her way down the table, a buffet that would rival anything she’d seen in Vegas.

NOT JUST FOR YOU. THE STAFF WILL TAKE THE REST TO THEIR FAMILY QUARTERS.

“Oh, good. I really wouldn’t want all this to go to waste, it looks great.” She took a seat to the left hand of the throne, as she expected Victor any time. She wasn’t disappointed; she stood as he entered from a door to the right, a bit more energy to his body language, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Darcy.” He came to her side instead of immediately taking his throne, his voice a low throaty purr. “Svezda.” A flicker of energy rippled over his hand as he took hers, lifting it to the slit of his mask. Strangely, she couldn’t feel anything other than pressure. “Forgive my retaining the personal force field, my dear. It is for your protection.”

“I forgive you. You seem to be feeling better,” she offered, and he inclined his head. 

“I am, thank you. And thank you for taking the time to make soup. It was very good, you’re a wonderful cook.” He gestured to her chair, and she took her seat again, allowing him to help her settle closer to the table before taking the throne.

“Thanks.”

“Please, go ahead and eat; I’ve already done so,” he invited, and she went back to it. The stuffed mushrooms were to die.

“I have got to get the recipe for these,” she said, and he immediately spoke to the cook at the side in Latverian, who answered in the same.

“Biruta says she will be happy to write it down for you; I will have one of the ‘Bots translate it into English, as I know she neither speaks or writes it. Would you prefer imperial measures instead of metric, as well?”

“Please?”

“Of course.” He spoke again, and Darcy didn’t need a translation for the happy yet nervous smile on the older woman’s face as she replied. “She says that your presence in the kitchens yesterday was very welcome.”

“It was fun,” she said as she reached for the coffee pitcher; he beat her to it. “Thanks. The staff seemed a little nervous, though.”

“An..unfortunate side effect of my former behavior,” he said lowly. “Long memories.”

“I get that. But you’re not that way anymore. They’ll get that eventually. Give’em time.” 

“Yes, well. There is good news,” Victor offered. “The New Soviet have been pushed to within fifty miles of the Ukrainian border.”

“Oh, that’s great news,” Darcy agreed. 

“With limited human casualties. I consider that the best news of all, though I am afraid your state department will not be pleased. But I may have an answer to that. I am still weighing my options.” 

“Diplomatic?”

“Indeed,” he agreed, inclining his head. “A measure I hesitate to initiate, but one that likely will not be thought of and therefore blocked by your State Department.”

“Is it..it’s not offworld, is it?” She asked, and he cocked his head, obviously thinking.

“Not…exactly. I have made a few calls this morning, and will likely know something to tell you this afternoon. Have you heard anything more from the Avengers?”

“Jane called last night, and I talked to Clint and Gambit, but that’s all,” she told him.

“Oh? I hope all is well.”

“Oh yeah,” she agreed, grinning cheekily. “Got my ass chewed for taking off without explaining anything, and Gambit thinks he’s out of a job, but yeah.”

“LeBeau has nothing to be worried about,” he said easily. “You have been safe while I have been distracted by these matters, and he will remain until I am sure you are no longer a target.”

“And that won’t be anytime soon, will it?” 

“I cannot say. That depends upon Putin and your government, Darcy. You know my thoughts on all of this.”

“Yeah. So any news on the U.N. election teams?” She changed the subject, and they spoke for another twenty minutes or so while she ate. He did seem better, he really did, and she hoped that maybe before she left, he would at least be able to hug her again. A Doppelganger unit, not Guy, interrupted them as she was finishing her coffee, speaking quietly to Victor, and she very carefully ignored it until it stepped away and he stood; she began to rise, but he waved her back down.

“Please, no. I have some business to attend; please, have Unit 809 show you the grounds, at least. Or if you would prefer a human companion, there are a few that speak English. Only tell the unit what you prefer.” He bent over her hand again. “I will be a few hours, but I hope you will join me for dinner, at least.”

“I’d be delighted.”

“Excellent. Until later, my dear.” He swept out of the room, his cape billowing around him, reminding her of Snape’s robes from the Harry Potter movies; it took several seconds of silent giggles before she could regain her composure.

 

“Mr. LeBeau.” 

“Lord Protecteur,” the Cajun mutant’s voice rolled across the line. “I have heard that perhaps you are considering a visit to Brittany.”

“That’s right; I’m waiting for Madame Sayre-Howlett to return my call.”

“Tres bien. A word, then, between bonshommes, gentlemen. Logan and Isabelle, they went to France to avoid bullshit here. Scott and Emma…merde. They betrayed Logan’s trust, certainement. Me, I don’t think you will, don’t think you intend it; but you should know, so no misunderstandings crop up.”

“What happened?”

“Ah…this was a bit ago, a year or so, perhaps a year and a half. Isabelle was teaching here, Logan was asked to help the Avengers with a job, he did that, he does that. Lo and behold, Sabretooth appears, we go on lockdown. Emma and Scott get him under control, get him contained. Then for some reason, God only knows why, they get this bright idea, let’s have Isabelle read his aura or some such merde.” LeBeau’s voice rose with every word, his anger almost palpable through the phone. “She was pregnant with le bebe Sophie. Didn’t know it herself, even. But that demon, he smells it. Smells it through metal, through glass, through concrete, and almost, almost killed her; would have, but she choked him out first. Batard.” He spat the last word. “So there is bad blood yet between Logan and Isabelle and Scotty boy. Me, I left because of it, not long after they did. If Scott would risk Logan’s wife for no reason? All they had to do was wait for Charles, they did not, would not. No, instead we will have her act, of course we will protect her, bullshit. Bullshit. So.” LeBeau blew out a long breath, thankfully mostly away from the telephone. “So. Me, I left about two weeks or so after. Jubilation, she went when Isabelle was about six months gone, Nightcrawler went with her; neither of them have come back for more than a week or so since, Jubes is still in Brittany, Kurt, he went on to Rome, he’s some sort of special envoy to Pope Francis now. Even the X-Men have the dirty laundry, last thing I would want is for you and Darcy to get tripped up into it.”

“I take it the professor spoke with you.” He had called Xavier, not having Madame Howlett’s number himself. Too, hearing from her old teacher might well impress her in a way that a phone call out of the blue from Doom would not.

“He knew I been working for you, with you,” Gambit agreed. “Hein, he wanted to make sure everything was on the up and up. No worries; I vouch for you. You gonna get a call from Bells soonish. But me, I wanted to make sure you knew what you walking into wit’ her an’ Wolverine.”

“The very last thing I want at this moment, Mr. LeBeau, is to gain any more enemies,” he sighed, leaning on the windowsill, looking out over the gardens; oh, good. There was Darcy, with Unit 809 and…a child? Yes. A child. Biruta’s grandson, if he wasn’t mistaken. The boy couldn’t be more than four, dark-haired…Biruta’s daughter had married one of his people…it hit him, suddenly, hit him that someday, gods willing, that could be Darcy chasing after their child, playing tag? Yes. And Unit 809 being joined by several other Doppelganger units, all hovering now above the two so as not to be in the way of the game, but watching over them. Hope gripped his heart, hope and its brother, fear, for one never comes without the other. Perhaps. Please. Perhaps someday.

“Well. Best that you knew the thing happened. When will Mademoiselle return?”

“She was to return in a few days; if my plans work out, it may be another week or so. You’ve nothing to worry about, you’ve fulfilled your duties admirably.”

“She’s fast, she wants to be,” Gambit sighed. “Shot right out of Hawkeye’s place into the street, had the Bifrost called before I could catch all the way up.”

“Caught you by surprise, then?”

“She did. She a bonne fille, M’sieur Lord Protecteur, and a wild one, too. Good luck with catchin’ an’ tamin’ that one.”

“I find I like her better wild. At any rate, I appreciate your information, M’sieur LeBeau.”

“De rien. Hope all this dies down soon, so you can court her proper. B’bye.” The line clicked dead, and he had just set the phone down when it rang again. Chuckling, he picked it back up. “Hello.”

“Lord Doom?” The voice was decidedly feminine, light, with a hint of suspicion. The vowels were slightly nasal, and Victor could detect the delicate musicality to her tone that betrayed French as her mother tongue. “This is Isabelle Sayre-Howlett. I received a message that you wished to speak with me?”

“Yes, Madame Howlett. Good morning.”

“Good -- well, it is still morning, isn’t it. I beg your pardon. Good morning.”

“If you don’t mind, I am rather eager to get to business; I find I am in need of an audience with your…extended family.” Silence for a breath, two, three seconds before she replied.

“And what would you have need of from Broceliande, Lord Protecteur?”

“I come in search of allies, and words dropped in the right ears, Madame Howlett. I am willing to pay, both materially and in future favors owed, both to you and to your extended famille.”

“I think perhaps this is something that should be spoken of face to face,” she said after another pregnant pause. “On my lands.”

“I desire nothing more. May I bring a guest?” Darcy in Brittany, the sea wind whipping her luscious hair…

“Who?”

“Darcy Lewis. Political analyst --“ Laughter interrupted him, bright, tinkling laughter.

“I know Darcy! Sure, bring her along! When should we expect you?”

“Within the next day or two. Is that convenient for you?”

“Of course. Call say, the morning before you arrive, if you would? So that we can ensure your comfort.”

“I look forward to meeting you, and seeing your husband again. Give him my regards, please.”

“I will.”

Well, that was done, and rather more easily than he had thought. Really, he had expected more resistance. But then, she was only the doorway to Broceliande; the ones he would truly have to impress were on the other side. King Hoel, Queen Iolanthe, and almost definitely Le Comte. There was the rub; he and St. Germain had had their differences in the past, and he would not easily be pacified by words. Le Comte de Saint-Germain was one of the most powerful, if not THE most powerful, sorcerer and alchemist in the world, outmatching that stripling Strange by light years. He was, if Victor were honest, and there was no sense in lies, more powerful than Victor.  
He would have to grovel.  
He would have to be the man he was striving to be, for Queen Iolanthe could see through mortal deception as easily as he could see through a spider’s web.  
Everything I do, I do for the good of my people. No more. No less. I am not a good man. But I am a better man than I was. And I strive to be better each day. Not for Darcy, lovely though she was, and hopeful as he was that she might one day grace a throne beside his own. But for Latveria. He would do anything for Latveria, and the hope of her survival.

 

Dinner was just as impressive a spread as brunch had been, liveried servants hovering behind them to pour more wine, more water, to slice more beef or bring finger cloths. Victor didn’t eat, again, and seemed to grow less sure of himself as the meal went on, shifting constantly in his throne. If it were anyone else, she would have thought he was nervous about something. Finally, dessert and coffee were served, and Victor dismissed the servants. “So. I told you this morning that I would elaborate on my plans this evening,” he began once they were alone. 

“Yep. So what’s up, Doc?” She asked, and he chuckled.

“You are not the first to make that joke. I did not know that you knew Isabelle Sayre-Howlett.”

“Isabelle -- yes. Yes, I know her, I was at her wedding. Avengers staff,” she shrugged. “But I knew her anyway, she used to come to the tower sometimes with Logan. I made their daughter a blanket for the baby shower. Why?”

“I find I must speak with her regarding the current political climate; she prefers to do so on her turf, as it were, and invited you to come as well.”

“Oh. Oh!” Darcy bit her lip. “I don’t know that I can, Victor, I made Tony a promise…”

“Of course, and I understand that, and that you must get back to your own work very soon. The political shifts are boding no one any good. But I had hoped that you might be able to come, at least for a few days.” 

“Well…” Darcy thought quickly. “I said I’d leave Latveria. I didn’t exactly say that I was coming straight home…”

“So perhaps you could take a few days by the sea with me, then?” He asked, and she could hear the hope in his voice. “I’ve a few surprises planned.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed.”

“Do any of these surprises include being able to hug you again?”

“Most certainly.”

“Well then I’d be delighted,” she smiled. “I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

“I hope you won’t be too bored,” he offered. “I will have meetings.”

“Between the baby and the chateau? No such thing. Your castle is great, Victor, and I like it. I like it a lot. But there’s so much history in the chateau, plus walking by the ocean, not to mention the orchards…I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” She sipped her coffee, waited another beat. “But why would you be talking to Isabelle about politics?”

“Her…extended family is very close to the French president, and may have some lines to other political powers here in Eastern Europe,” he said after a moment. 

“Her aunts?”

“No. If you do not know, Darcy, I’m afraid I cannot tell you without her permission. Angering La Sylphide or her family is not something any intelligent person would do.”

“And you’re rather intelligent. Okay,” she shrugged, tabling it for now. “So…when did you want to go?”

“Tomorrow evening? In order to give them time to prepare for us.”

“Sounds good.”

 

Tony lifted the ice pack from his rapidly swelling eye to look down at his insistent phone. “Princess Vespa,” was the notification, and wincing, he picked it up. “Hey, Artoo.”

“Tony?” Darcy replied. “You don’t sound so good, did something happen?”

“Nah, ‘m fine.” He forced himself to sound brighter, more cheerful, feeling the cut on his lip split open again as he put on a PR smile. “What’s up?”

“Um…I know I said I’d be home in two days,” she began, and he sat up, biting back a moan through sheer force of will.

“Yeah, you agreed, Darce,” he said slowly. “What’s up?”

“Victor needs to go talk to Isabelle Howlett, La Sylphide. He wants me to go with him, I’ll be perfectly safe, Tony, and I promise I’ll hop a flight from Paris as soon as he’s done --“

“Wait, hold up,” Tony interrupted her, relaxing slightly. “Why exactly does he need to talk to her?”

“Um…it’s a diplomatic thing. Her family is apparently very well politically connected.” Tony managed not to snort, but it was a close, close thing. “But he wants me to go with him, he’s still not all the way well, Tony…”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sure,” he agreed, the grin on his face now genuine, splitting his lip even more. “You’re coming straight back to New York after whatever’s done, though.”

“Yes. Absolutely. I have to get back to work, probably not more than another week. But I haven’t had any kind of a real vacation since --“

“Since you and Starstruck moved into the tower, I know. A couple days here and there for Hanukkah and whatnot. Okay. See you, Lewis.”

“Thanks, Tone Loc.” She hung up, and Tony waited until the call had fully disengaged before dropping his head back on the headrest and laughing aloud.

“What in the world is so funny?” Isabelle asked, one slender eyebrow rising as she took in the sight of Tony Stark, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Iron Man, with a rising black eye, a split lip, shirtless with bandages wrapped around his ribs from where Logan had utterly and completely kicked his ass not two hours before.

“The way of the world, Bells, the way of the world, and how the Universe never fails to amuse me,” he chuckled. “You didn’t tell me Victor was coming.”

“No…I hadn’t thought it germane to our conversation earlier,” she said slowly, bouncing Sophie on her hip. “Why?”

“His girlfriend. Darcy Lewis? Works for me, I was just on the phone to her yesterday telling her to get her ass home because of the political situation brewing. I wanted her out of Latveria, pronto. “ He gestured to the phone. “She’s coming with him, and she has no idea I’m here.”

“Ah. That is a funny coincidence. So I take it she was asking for some time?” Isabelle asked, and Tony nodded, then laid his head back again, replacing the ice pack; that hadn’t been one of his better ideas.

“Yeah.” His grin slipped its leash again, and this time he felt blood trickling. “Damn.” He reached blindly for the other ice pack, and it was slapped into his hand a little roughly.

“Pepper will have my hide if I send you home like this,” Isabelle tsked as he laid it in place. 

“Ehh, you tell her what he did, she’ll say he had it comin’,” Logan rumbled. “Besides. He’ll be okay in a day or two. I didn’t break nothin’.”

“Thanks for that,” Tony mumbled under the ice packs.

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Hey. Going to France tomorrow, probably for 3 to 5 days. After that, I’m headed back to the Tower.” Loki gazed down at the text message, frowning slightly.

**“Why France?”**

“Diplomatic stuff.”  


**“Ah. Nothing urgent has come up?”**

“Nope. Just making diplomatic gestures whatnot.”

**“I see. And you are flying back to New York from Paris, I take it?”**

“That’s the plan.”

**“Then once you are safely on French soil, I will consider my guardianship finished, and return to New Asgard.”**

“That’s why I texted. I know you have duties to fulfill, Loki. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you and Thor have done.”  
And that was the truth of it; he was Loki, god of lies and mischief, and he knew she meant every word. And it broke his heart.

**“It was no trouble, systir. Though do send a message through Heimdall if...”** he hesitated before making himself go on with the message. **“…your relationship should progress to anything serious. Von Doom will have to ask the King of Asgard for your hand, after all. And there will be negotiations to be had.”**

“Loki, I’m morganatic.”

**“So you are; but you are still a Princess of New Asgard, Countess of Skaarsgard, and as such you hold a vote in Council and more political clout than you think. And he is the ruler of a country on a foreign realm. Marrying you would tie New Asgard and Midgard together, specifically Latveria, and would be a state occasion. Treaties. Negotiations. Because New Asgard will not be drawn into any petty political squabbles that Von Doom may find himself in here on Midgard, or at least, none of his own design.”**

“No, but if Latveria were attacked, New Asgard would surely help her.”

**“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I can make no promises. It would depend upon the situation, Darcy, and that is why there will be, must be, treaties and negotiations. You know this, you are well schooled in diplomacy and the power plays of politicians and protocol.”** He paused, smirking, before sending the next message. **“Then there is the custom of the test of strength of arms, the bridal price, the dowry. There are a great deal of formalities and niceties that must be seen to, should the courtship progress to a happy conclusion.”** He would be who faced Von Doom for Darcy’s hand. He would. And the man would win, if she wished it; but if not, if she held the slightest bit of doubt in her heart, if he saw himself that Von Doom meant anything amiss, he would slice the man’s head from his shoulders and be done with it. At any rate, he would know that should he ever mistreat Darcy, that there would be vengeance, and it would be swift and painful.

“Trial by combat, Loki?”

**“You are a princess. It is a custom.”** He could all but see the exasperated expression on her face. 

“Right. Well, we’re nowhere near that sort of thing, and it will likely be a long time before anything like that happened. So nothing for New Asgard to worry about.”

“Oh, but there is,” he murmured to himself, even as his fingers flew over the keyboard. **“Of course. I am only informing you so that you will be prepared.”**

“Right. Good night, Loki.”

**“Good night.”**

He didn’t throw his phone. He gently placed it on the side table, stood, and in the next breath, he stood in the desolate icy plains of Antarctica. He conjured a double of Von Doom, sneering at it before he attacked with blade and spell, his rage white hot coursing through his veins until he almost could not see, and when that spell-crafted doppelganger fell, he created another, another, another, until at last he stood triumphant over nine of the spell-crafted clones before dismissing them all with a wave of his hand, to sink onto his ass in the snow, his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! SO! There's a lot going on, a lot lot lot going on, more behind the scenes, to be honest; my very good friend is writing a companion piece in this same universe, "All This and Heaven, Too" found HERE --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280804/chapters/32941314 and that is where you will meet the beautiful Isabelle Sayre-Howlett, who Victor and Darcy are on their way to see. 
> 
> Now. Things are gonna start flying fast and furious very soon, because Vladdy-boy is pissy because Doom is making him look the fool, and God knows narcissists and megalomaniacal oompa-loompas don't like being made to look like fools. 
> 
> THINGS TO COME: FAERIE COURTS! PISSED OFF MARIA HILL! PISSED OFF PEPPER! FIND OUT WHO 'TASHA IS ACTUALLY IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH (hint: it's not Bruce)! GUILTY STEVE! FAIRLY IRKED LOKI! THE EVER LOVING BLUE EYED THING! LYJA THE SKRULL! AND MANY MORE IN OUR CAST OF FUCKING THOUSANDS JESUS CHRIST WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA....
> 
> Stay tuned, True Believers!  
> Excelsior!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria and Pepper discuss Fury's latest attack of idiocy  
> What could possibly be more deadly than a Black Widow?

Maria leaned forward, forehead caught in her hands, elbows firm on her desk, and sighed. Bone deep, what Rogers would likely call an Irish sigh, and she wasn’t Irish. Well. Not much. “Damn it, Nick,” she muttered before forcing herself up again, rising to look out the window of her office. New York City shone like a pearl at her feet.

After the debacle that had been the fall of SHIELD, she’d come running to Stark Tower, all of her secrets, so many secrets of so many agents laid bare for the world to see, and Stark had brought her in. Not just her, either; thousands of agents across the globe, and their families, had been brought into the fold, Iron Legionnaires and SI Security Forces crashing in to rescue people from hostile countries, from certain torture and death and more than one had had Death fought off of them by frantic doctors and nurses in SI Med-Corps offices and private surgery rooms.

For three months, she, Stark, Potts, Hogan and Rhodes had fought and clawed and dug to bring as many people home as they possibly could, and there were still teams of SI Security chasing down leads on the missing, leaving breadcrumbs and trails and messages -- go to SI. Say “Sanctuary.” You will be brought home -- but they’d lost so many. So very, very many.

SHIELD lived, yes; Coulson had his team, and there was the “New SHIELD” in Washington. Nick was still pretending to be dead to the rest of the world, and twisting the strings he still held to those in the know. And now he wanted her back. Wanted her to return as his left hand, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t watched HYDRA decimate the core of the organization she had spent eighteen years serving faithfully. Collateral damage. “You can best honor the dead by serving the living,” Nick had argued with her. “I want you back. You’ve had a long enough vacation.”

“Vacation,” she whispered, anger rising in her heart hot and mixing with the grief that still choked her every time she thought about the missing and the dead. “You think I’ve been on goddamn VACATION, NICK?” Her voice rose into a shriek. “Where the FUCK have you been, you bastard! You faked your death and fucked off into the sunset, you didn’t HELP! You didn’t give STARK the CHANCE to help! You just BURNED every FUCKING SHIELD agent in the world, and walked the fuck away, and you think I’ve been on VACATION?”

“Hill,” he began, curt and sharp, and she’d hung up on him. And now she had a choice to make.

But there was no choice. None. Fury had shown her, shown her very fucking well, just how loyal he was.

“FRIDAY,” she said, arms rising over her chest to hug herself. “Get me Pepper, please.”  


“Of course, Miss Hill,” the AI said…and was that approval in her tone?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That son of a bitch,” Pepper murmured twenty minutes later in her penthouse, private office. It was softer here than the one downstairs; downstairs was all sharp angles and modern art, chrome and glass and futuristic, but here there were cushions and couches, low tables and thick carpet, the scent of jasmine from her aromatherapy oil burner. She had listened to Maria’s recitation of Fury’s call, Maria standing at parade rest, hands behind her, in front of Pepper’s desk as she’d retold the call verbatim, as if she were in a debrief. And wasn’t she?

Pepper stood and came out from her desk, laying a gentle hand on Maria’s shoulder. “At ease, Maria,” she said softly. “Tony’s gone to Europe to see some political friends. Would you like a drink?”

“Oh, God yes,” Maria murmured gratefully as she sat down on the gold couch behind her, and Pepper chuckled as she went to the wall, pressed a button, and took down a bottle.

“Ice?”

“No, neat.” She took the scotch with a grateful nod, sipped, let the burn slide down her throat before bringing the glass to her forehead, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.

“So. What will he do next, then?” Pepper asked, the click of glass on glass telling Maria she was pouring herself a glass of something, too.

“It’s Fury,” Maria sighed. “Whatever anyone thinks he’ll do, he’ll do the exact opposite.”

“And you know him best, other than Phil,” Pepper said, and Maria looked up to see her leaning against her desk, hip hiked up on it. “So. What will he do?”

“Ah. He tried a call,” Maria began. “Next he’ll go for the personal touch.”

“Showing up uninvited and sitting in the shadows until you notice him?” Maria snorted, but nodded.

“He’ll think that my seeing him will…twist my head back on straight,” Maria said, sneering. “I just…vacation?” Pepper snorted at that.

“He’s been gone for two years,” Pepper said, her own glass of white wine at her side. “Who knows what he actually knows now compared to what he thinks he knows? He’s been cut off from most of his intelligence sources, right?”

“I haven’t heard anything through the grapevine, but that doesn’t mean much,” Maria replied, taking another slow, steady sip, savoring the Scotch -- that was good stuff. “I’ve been concentrating on the Lavinski matter the last two months, and in my off time, trying to help Happy’s folks with picking up stragglers.”

“And how are we doing on Lavinski?” Pepper asked, and Maria gave her a shark’s smile.

“Another week, and we’ll have her. She’s not half so good as she thinks she is.”

“Excellent,” Pepper agreed. Sara Lavinski was a Hammer spy who was currently being kept wrapped up and away from R&D. Maria was going to let her into the labs next week to be caught red-handed. “So how long do you think it’ll be before he shows up?”

Maria paused, tried to think. “Six weeks,” she said after a moment. “No. Three months. He’ll double it for me, because he’ll know that I’ll be expecting it. He’ll also think that after being off the reservation for so long, I’ll have gone soft.”

“What will he do to get in?”

“That’s a question. The Tower’s a hard target because Happy and Tony have worked so hard to ensure that nothing can knock FRIDAY offline,” Maria said, her mouth twisting to the side. “I --“

“Excuse me, Miss Potts, Miss Hill,” FRIDAY cut into their conversation. “We have hostiles on the premises.”

“What? Where? Who?” Pepper asked abruptly as the door to the office disappeared, covered by a metal plate that immediately shimmered to look like the wall beside it. A holographic screen opened up on the coffee table in front of Maria, who immediately picked up her drink and studied the blueprint shown.

“I waited until I was sure,” FRIDAY went on. “But I believe they are two teams of what are commonly called Yagini, Russian SPETZNATZ agents. Their powers vary, but seem to be something along the lines of a cross between the Black Widow and the Scarlet Witch. Since Boss isn’t here, I have taken the precaution of hiding the office from anyone else.”

“Have you alerted the Avengers onsite?” Pepper asked even as Maria rose, drawing her gun in a fluid motion and settling herself in front of where the door had been.

“Yes, ma’am. I have also asked Mr. Grimm to assist; he is not yet on the Avengers roster, but he is here, and available.”

“Good. Who else is here?”

“Black Widow, Hawkeye, Captain Rogers, and the Falcon. Vison and the Scarlet Witch are en route; they had gone to lunch.”

“Is Gambit on site?”

“He is currently in his quarters; he is not an Avenger, but a bodyguard for Miss Lewis --“

“Who is not here. Ask Mr. LeBeau if he would be so kind as to go guard Dr. Foster.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And FRIDAY?”

“Yes?”

“Have the RESCUE suit ready in case I need it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pepper, you should stay here. I can go and help --“ Maria began, looking over her shoulder, but Pepper shook her head, looking down at the wineglass in her hand -- the wine that was starting to steam, just a bit.

“No. Stay here for now; you can help with the interrogation afterwards.”

 

It had been child’s play to steal the cleaning service uniforms and gain access to the building after hours. Of course SI had cleaning people; of course they would come in at six-thirty, after most of the offices had emptied. And of course it had been less than nothing for Katrina to level the legitimate cleaning people with a simple psionic blast. They would live. Probably. Now the six Yagina slipped up the stairs, Darya disabling the security cameras and opening the blast door that separated the Avengers’ floors from the normal residential floors.

Raisa laid a hand on the door, concentrating; the only warning the others had was a sudden breath before the floor around them lit up with arrows and bullets. Ludya threw up a shield around them as Emilia began gathering energy for an emergency exit, but the sound of a door slamming open and unnaturally heavy footsteps rushing up from beneath them startled all of them.

An orange monster came around the corner, standing on the landing below. “I hate fightin’ girls,” the monstrosity said, but still its hands were curled into fists. It was bulky, looking like nothing so much as a mass of orange rock fused together in the semblance of a man. “I really do.”

“Yes,” someone said in Russian, “but sometimes it is necessary, Grimm, as you know.” Then another creature appeared from out of the wall before them, magenta skinned and a golden cape swirling about him -- and then they knew no more.

 

The holding cells had been built by Tony, then reinforced by Natasha's specifications; originally, she had escaped them within twenty minutes, then four hours, then twenty, then thirty-six. The day came when it took a solid week, and that was when she gave approval. "If you can hold a Black Widow, THE Black Widow, for a week, then it will hold almost anything," she had said.

Those words returned to her now as arrogant and prideful. Yagini were...new. They moved as Widows, they fought as Widows, but they had a secret weapon; magic. And while the cells were inhibited, thanks to the good Doctors, the interrogation room and the hallways were not.

"Keep at least one cell empty between them," she offered, hoping it would help. "The little I have been able to find tells me they are stronger together." 

"What else?" Hill asked, and the Widow shook her head.

"They will have a specialty. An area of magic that they are strongest in, but Hill, don't expect to hold them long. Or at least, not all of them."

"How long?" Clint pushed, and the Widow bit back her irritation; she didn't have the INTEL, for fuck's sake...

"My best guess? We'll lose at least one within 72 hours. After that, no idea." She paused, casting her memory to its limit. "Understand that their specialty is kept almost completely off-books. There is very little chatter about them. No one knows how many units there are, or how they are organized, nothing. I literally just learned they have Widow training two days ago."

The hush that fell was uncomfortable. "Okay," Hill said after a moment. "Scarlet Witch, you're with me and Widow. I want Vision as escort in the hallway, he's immune to most magical mind manipulation and he can't be hurt because of his mass manipulation. Scarlet, you're to keep their magic locked tight while they're in interrogation." She paused, then continued. "FRIDAY, take readings of energy modulation if they take out your cameras in the cells. Let's all consider this a chance to gain as much information as possible here; if one or more escapes, at least we'll know more than we did."

 

Ludya went with the magenta man quietly, her hands cuffed behind her. He took her to what was obviously an interrogation room and cuffed her instead to the metal table, cuffing her feet to the floor, then left her there. Immediately, a female voice began to speak from speakers.

"What is your name, please?" The voice asked with no inflection, first in Russian, then English, Polish, Ukrainian, Latverian, Lithuanian, German...then began again in English. Ludya was surprised that no humans were questioning her, but sat quietly, simply listening to the voice as it went through its litany several more times. Surprisingly, after about the hundredth, the magenta man came again and took her back to the cell.

The cell...itched. In her mind, her soul. It was quiet, always quiet. Meals were delivered at regular intervals, as well as snacks of fruit and cheese. In all, she was being treated very well, for being a prisoner; but the cell itched.

Twice a day, she was led to the interrogation room, and the voice asked her name exactly two hundred times in various languages. That was the only interaction she had with anyone.

And she finally, finally, gave in. "Ludya." The voice stopped in its recitation, then asked, "What was your mission?"

"No. I want to know my sisters are well first," she said, and the voice paused.

"One moment, please." It wasn't long. "Three of the others captured are still in custody and are being treated exactly as you are, Agent Ludya. Two attempted to escape; one was unfortunately captured by the CIA afterwards. One was injured, and is receiving medical treatment at the Avengers compound. Now. What was your mission?"

"To capture a civilian, and take her back to Russia," Ludya sighed.

"The civilian's name, please?"

"Darcy Anna Lewis."

"Thank you, Agent Ludya. One moment, please." The voice fell silent, and Ludya began to count silently. She had just reached 7,632 when the Scarlet Witch entered the room, followed by a woman Ludya did not recognize, holding a tray, and...Romanovna. The Black Widow.

"Do you speak English, Agent Ludya?" The stranger asked as she placed the tray on the table. A sandwich of whole grain bread, apple slices, a bag of barbecue potato chips, and an orange drink. The Widow hung back, watching a moment before speaking in Russian.

"You will give me your word by the tears of Rusalka that you will not attempt anything if I loose one of your hands." She couldn't disguise her shock, only nodded before Romanovna spoke again. "Verbally, please."

"Yes," she said softly, feeling the oath wrap around her, as binding as the metal around her wrist. "I swear." A few seconds later, she picked up an apple slice as Romanovna opened her drink.

"So," the stranger began. "My name is Agent Hill. Your name is Ludya. Do you mind if we continue calling you Agent Ludya? And have you been mistreated, are you ill or hurt at all?"

"No. Just, my cell, it itches me."

"That's the suppression technology. Does it hurt?"

"No, just itch," she gestured to her head and heart. "Inside."

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that, Agent Ludya."

"I am sorry for it," Scarlet Witch said suddenly in broken Russian. "It is necessary."

"Of course."

"What were your mission parameters regarding your target, Agent Ludya?"

"To capture her and bring her to the Embassy. FSB was to oversee her after that."

"In what condition?"

"Alive. Hurt or.." it took her a moment to find the right word in English. "Influenced, was acceptable. Dead was not."

"For what purpose?"

"I do not know. I know only the target, and the mission objective."

"You didn't happen to overhear anything?" Romanovna asked her in Russian. "Commanders chat, after all."

"No. I overheard nothing." She swallowed. "Katrina might know. She is our mind reader."

"And which is Katrina, please?"

"Blonde. No tits. The chesty blonde is Darya. She is tech."

"And your specialty?"

"Force fields and.. pushing, not telekinesis exactly but close." She paused, closing her eyes. "By the Rusalka's smile, what I tell you is truth," she said quickly, and Romanovna leaned forward. "I am eldest, and I remember best. We are descendants of The Yaga, stolen from our parents, twisted into this. None of us wanted this, Widow. I can speak for no one else, but by my ancestor, I swear, I want out. Help me, and I will tell you everything I know of us....and there are more, Widow, even now, there are daughters of the Yaga being trained and twisted as we were."

"What are you asking for, Agent Ludya?" The Widow asked, her voice soft.

"Sanctuary. Asylum. Help me, and I will help you tear SPETZNATZ apart," she offered. "No more of my ancestress' bloodline turned into monsters. No more of our cousins the same."

"I cannot make that decision, Ludyinka," the Widow said quietly. "But I will take your request to the proper authorities. You have my word, by the spring star."

Ludya breathed out; that was true. Widow could not give her safety. That would be politik, not spy. And the star of spring meant hope. She nodded. "Ask. I will tell you what I can." Romanovna spoke quietly to Hill, who leaned forward.

"How many Yagini are there?"

 

 

Widow beat the sparring droid, her breath coming short in her tight chest. A round of applause caught her attention, and she looked up, snarling, to see Sam and Clint in the doorway of the gym.

"Hey, Mama," Sam said, leaning against the wall. "What it is."

"Hey yourself." Natasha remained where she was, kneeling on the mat, before she held up a hand, closing it around a water bottle a few seconds later. She took a long drink, putting the Widow away. Only when she stood and nodded did her lover and her soul brother approach her.

"'Tasha," Clint said softly, reaching out to link pinky fingers. "You okay?"

"They're like me," she said, looking up into her brother's eyes. "She was sworn, to break that oath would kill her, and they're like me, they're taken, Clint, they're taken and turned into monsters and --"

"Oh, baby," Sam said softly, reaching for her, and she allowed herself the safety of his arms, never letting go of Clint. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for you and Widow both for having to go through that."

"She wants asylum. She wants to fix it. To end the SPETZNATZ. There's-- she said --"

"Shhh. It's okay, 'Tasha, it's okay --"

"They were here for Darcy."

"And she's safe, 'Tash. Our Kitten is safe, she's in France right now with Doom and Logan and Laura and Sylphide, she's safe," Clint assured her. "Let's go upstairs, get a shower, get some food. Then if you want to, you can tell us all about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That was fun. Sorry for the odd line between scenes at the top, but the friggin' HTML wouldn't let me put in another paragraph break.
> 
> I'd like to thank...oh God, probably 99.9% of the Civil War: Team Iron Man writers for the excellent work they've done in their fics. You opened my eyes to what would have actually happened at the end of CA:TWS. So here's to Dont_call_me_Carrie, tstark(goldandtitanium), TheSovereigntyofReality, katling, SmutLover, and izumi2. There are so many more who really are talented, but those are the authors whose work touched me the most, ESPECIALLY SmutLover's "Use Your Words" 'verse and Dont_call_me_Carrie's "Time To Carry The Colors Again" 'verse. Beautiful work, the pair of you, and I am waiting patiently for more in each 'verse. High recommends on all those authors.
> 
> I am going to do my absolute BEST to avoid the Civil War inasmuch as I can. This 'verse has always been timed after AOU and before CW, so YES, James is out there, YES, he will be in this story, and YES, there will be CONSEQUENCES for his actions as The Winter Soldier. Is he completely guilty? Absolutely not. Are there extenuating circumstances? There are INDEED, and even more than you know. Will his judgment be fair and just? YES.
> 
> That being said, James wasn't the ONLY reason the Civil War happened. I'm running on a mixture of MCU and comics 'verses, so this is gonna get interesting. 
> 
> Stay tuned, True Believers!
> 
> EXCELSIOR!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journeys end in lovers meeting...

The chateau was lovely, illuminated against the dark of a seaside night, the faintest wisp of salt on the breeze. A small group of people waited at the front steps; Victor could see Isabelle Howlett, an elderly couple with her, Jubilation Lee slightly behind them. Further back, closer to the door, he could see Logan leaning against the wall, and a young woman, older than Jubilee but not by much, surely only in her twenties, holding a baby. The car stopped, and he opened the door himself as the attaché got out to get their bags, as he’d ordered. He stepped out, reaching in for Darcy; she had fallen asleep on the drive from the consulate at Nantes, and was likely still drowsy. When he faced the small group of mostly women again, Isabelle was behind everyone rather than in front as she had been, speaking softly with Logan, who grimaced, but came with her to greet them properly.

“Lord Protecteur,” Isabelle said. “Welcome.”

“Madame Howlett, M’sieur Howlett. Thank you for accommodating us.” He inclined his head at the exact moment that Darcy truly woke up.

“Isa!” She called, and dropped his hand to run to their hostess, wrapping her arms around the slender woman in a hearty embrace. “Logan!” One hand reached out to the burly man beside his wife. A sigh escaped him, but he took it, squeezing her hand gently.

“You never change, do ya, Sparkles?”

“Of course I do! I’d smell if I didn’t,” Darcy joked before looking back over her shoulder at him, glancing quickly between the two of them. “Oh, Logan, come on, be cool. Will you please be cool?”

“He’s here, ain’t he? I didn’t lay any booby traps for ya, did I?”

“Much as I’m sure it pained you, you didn’t,” Darcy agreed as she stepped back from Isabelle. “Seriously. Is there going to be an issue? Because we can go stay in town.”

“No. No, there’s no issue, and no, you’re not going back to town,” Isabelle said quickly. “Come in, let me show you your rooms, they’re really lovely. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Meme made a lovely pain du chocolat this afternoon, and there’s fresh coffee.” The women began to move toward the door, Logan, Victor, the elderly gentleman, and the attaché with the bags remaining there in the drive for another few seconds.

“Peter. Follow directions as to where to take the bags, then go back to town,” Victor ordered in French. “I will call for you if I have need of you.”

“Yes, Lord Protector.” The young man looked first to Logan, who jerked his head at the elderly gentleman. Once they were inside, Logan took one step. One. Toward him.

“Bells invited you, and I believe in hospitality,” Logan said lowly. “And if the rumors are true, then hell, I’m all for it. You ain’t the only son of a bitch with a past. But I’m watchin’. I’m listenin’. One step out of line, Doom. Just one. And me’n my gal, we’ll gut you where you stand and hand Darce the tissues afterward.”

“I expect nothing less. Is Saint-Germain here yet?” Victor asked, and Logan nodded slowly.

“Yep. Came this afternoon. You wantin’ to get started now? It’s awful late, even…over there.”

“No. But I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with both of you privately this evening,” Victor replied, tilting his head just a shade higher.

“Sure.” Logan nodded. “Sure.”

Darcy covered her yawn with her hand as she glanced around the parlor. Victor and Logan were probably still comparing dicks, but that was to be expected, really; men. Can’t live with them, can’t shoot them. Oh, well. “So,” Isabelle began, pouring coffee as her grandmother sliced cake, “Victor?”

“God, not you, too,” Darcy sighed, but smiled to take the sting from her words. “Victor. Yes.”

“I…contacted a few people after he called Professor Xavier yesterday,” Isabelle began. “He’s really turned over a new leaf, Darce? You really think so?”

“He just faced down something absolutely terrifying that no one will tell me about except that it was terrifying last week, so yeah,” Darcy agreed. “I --“

“My sources say it was a clone of Omega Red,” Isabelle said softly. “A highly enhanced clone of Omega Red, and there are more Spetznatz being released. Russia is desperate now not to lose face, and may well be on the verge of calling in markers from Trump to isolate and take out Latveria as a player. That’s why he’s here.” Isabelle swallowed, hard. “To make new alliances that will remind certain individuals in the French Cabinet where their bread is buttered.”

“I didn’t know you were related to politicians,” Darcy said as she took her coffee, and heard someone laugh softly from behind her.

“Oh, my dear, my very dear.” The man’s voice was cultured, genteel, elegant; the barest trace of a French accent accompanied his words as he stepped into view. He was a tall, late middle aged gentleman, no more than his mid-fifties or so. Thin, with a hawkish look to his features, warm dark eyes that were laughing at her even now. “You are an Israelite indeed, aren’t you?”

“In which there is no guile,” she agreed, standing and extending her hand. “Darcy Lewis.”

“I am so very pleased to meet you,” the man said, bowing over her hand. “Leopold Ragoczi, de Saint-Germain, at your service.”

“And my family’s?” That took him aback for a moment, and then he laughed again, this time seeming much more genuine.

“Indeed! Isabeau, you told me she was clever, I did not expect how clever!” He said to Isabelle before turning back to her. “And you are Victor’s lady? And the political liaison for the Avengers? How very interesting.”

“I’m Victor’s girlfriend, and yes, I’m the head political analyst and liaison for the Avengers,” Darcy agreed as he gestured for her to sit down before taking a seat nearby. He put her in mind, somewhat, of Doctor Strange; the resemblance was interestingly close. “If you don’t mind, do you have any relatives in the U.S., Mr. Ragoczi?”

“You speak of the boy dunder,” Ragoczi sighed. “No. To the very best of my knowledge, I have no relations of blood.”

“And Master Leopold would know,” Isabelle added.

“I’m missing something here,” Darcy said slowly. “Master Leopold?”

“I’ve been something of a tutor in certain areas to our dear Isabelle. Such a joy. And Sophie is so darling,” he began as the door of the parlor opened, and Logan stepped in, coming to the man’s side and whispering something in his ear. His face…blanked for a moment, one second still smiling at Darcy, the next completely expressionless, a flicker of graveness, before he stood again. “Won’t you excuse me, ladies?”

“Of course,” Isabelle said, looking at the pair of them. “Hurry back.”

“As soon as may be, my dear, and Ms. Lewis.” He gave them a little nod, then followed Logan from the room. Isabelle’s gaze followed them until the door closed, then she turned back to Darcy.“Master Leopold is a very close, very old, family friend,” she said softly. “Le Comte de Saint-Germain, Darce. You know that name, I hope?”

“I…know there’s a legend with that name,” Darcy said after a second. “But I can’t think of it right this second. Sorry, it’s been…something of a whirlwind over the last few days. New York, Asgard, Latveria, here.”

“Asgard? Oh, you’ve got to tell me about that,” Isabelle said, and Darcy nodded before beginning her story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the cellars of the chateau, Ragoczi waved a hand; pre-arranged candelabras flared to life, showing a large room, lined with bookshelves, a worktable to one side, covered in magical and alchemical detritus. Logan and Victor entered as Ragoczi muttered a few words. “Well, Victor,” he said after a few seconds. “Surely you did not intend to begin parley this evening? It is late even in Broceliande, you know.”

“Not in so many words, no,” Victor said, taking in Ragoczi. The Forever Man looked unchanged for the most part, as always. The last time they had spent any time together, he had worn knee breeches, a brocade coat, rather than a Savile Row suit, but he was the same. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, reminding himself why he was about to do what he was about to do, before speaking again. “Master Leopold Ragoczi, Comte de Saint-Germain, Keeper of the Key of Lamoth, Guardian of the Diadem du Grainne, I crave and ask your protection for my charge and myself.” His hand did not tremble as he reached for his mask, nor the clasp of his cloak, dropping both upon the floor. Nor did it shake as he pressed the hidden button that retracted the armor from his body, baring himself to both men. He did, however, take a fortifying, steadying breath, before releasing the Star of Latveria, the silver orb in which a great deal of his own power lay hidden, and dropped it, too, atop the pile.

“You cannot mean --“ Ragoczi began, and Victor passed his hand over his face, covering his true visage with the extrapolated image of what he should have looked like instead. “Glamourie, Victor?”

“Without the Star, it will take a great deal of my own power to hold; I will not be able to cast anything else and keep it in place. You know that, Ragoczi.”

“I do,” Saint-Germain agreed, looking at the pile of magical and mortal defenses on the floor, then back to Victor. “I do know that. Do you mean to go to Broceliande as a beggar, then, Victor?”

“Whatever I must do to ensure Latveria, Ragoczi. If that means serving as Iolanthe’s hobby horse, then I will do so.”

“Oh, do not say that aloud before Hoel, you know how he is,” Ragoczi sighed. “Very well; as a Brother of the Arts Mystique, I acknowledge your need, and pledge my staff to what protection might be necessary of your charge and yourself, until such time as the parley is finished. Once done, however, I trust you will want your things back.”

“Once finished, yes,” Victor agreed, standing his ground as Ragoczi approached him, looking at him curiously.

“You are learning, aren’t you?” The Forever Man said softly. “You are finally growing past it. It has certainly taken you long enough, dear boy. And do we have the lovely young Miss Lewis to thank -- no. No, I see it in your aura; the soft rose is too strong for it to be new. How long, then? How long have you been striving to become more than Doctor Doom, scourge of worlds?”

“Two years, perhaps. Not long, in your reckoning; and I do not see it as an easy task --“

“No. No, to be more than powerful, that is not easy,” Ragoczi agreed. “To realize that power in and of itself is not the goal, that takes effort. You are stepping outside yourself, and yet not; your attachment to Latveria still shines bright, bright green -- and yet it is a healthy green, a forest green, rather than pustulent, as it was the last time we met.” He paused. “You know it took me…quite a long time myself. To move past such things. Do you still seek the Stone, Victor?”

“No.” No. He did not. He had long ago abandoned his quest for the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. “I seek peace.”

“Peace through strength?”

“Peace is its own strength,” Victor replied, and was surprised by the smile that crept over Ragoczi’s face.

“You are learning, dear boy. You are learning indeed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was just rising when Darcy rose the next morning, her body’s clock all turned topsy turvy. She’d neglected her training over the last few days, and she knew she’d better get back to it, or else ‘Tasha would kick her ass all over the gym when things settled down, and they were all back at the tower. Yoga pants, her running shoes, a hoodie over a tee, and she slipped down the stairs and out to the gardens, hoping to run into Logan or Laura; either one would be happy to spar a little with her after she got through her warm-ups.

Since she didn’t know the space, she kept to a slow, steady jog rather than her usual pace, following the long raked stone paths easily, her breath catching a little but not so much she was in distress. She made the circuit of the outer path twice, decided to do one more, just to make sure she was fully warmed up, and turned the corner at the back door -- and almost ran smack into someone she didn’t recognize at all. He was tall, almost as tall as Victor, handsome enough even if he was bald, with high cheekbones, a sharp nose, and she thought he might be a Spanish or Italian mutant that was staying with Logan and Isabelle as well, with that deep bronze complexion. And then she was close enough to see his dark eyes light up, and she knew. “I -- Victor?” She whispered uncertainly.

“Darcy,” he said, and the voice was right, everything was right as he smiled -- but she still backed away, out of reach.

“If you’re Victor, what did we have for dinner last night?” She challenged.

“Roast duck, stuffed with rice, mushrooms, and peppers,” he replied. “At Castle Doom, before I teleported us to Nantes.”

“Oh. Oh, Victor!” Now she rushed to the arms he held out to her, let him pick her up and whirl her round in a tight, but gentle hug.

“Svezda,” he breathed in her hair. “Clever, to double check, but it is me, Darcy, it is I.”

“What’s -- I don’t understand,” she said, looking up at him. “How?”

“Magic, of course,” he murmured. “It is not -- it is not real, Darcy. It is an illusion of what I would look like at this age, had…had my pride not been so full.”

“Okay…but…how full of an illusion is it? Can I touch?”

“Even better.” He bent to her, brushing his lips over hers as if asking permission -- and then kissed her fully, passionately, growling a little as she responded in kind, clutching at his shoulders and pulling him closer, closer still. When they parted, he touched his forehead to hers, looking down at her. “You burn as well as shine,” he said softly. “Such passion, Svezda. I named you well.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she countered, rising on her toes to kiss him again, her arms twining around his neck. God, he was built, and strong, she could feel the play of muscle under his shirt; if he had an ounce of fat on his body, she’d eat haggis. This time when the kiss broke, though, he stepped back, looking up at the baby blue sky above them.

“A moment; it has been a very, very long time, Darcy, and I would not insult our hosts.”

“Aww,” she pouted a little, but backed off. “I get it. Why now, Victor? If you could do this before, why now?”

“At home, I was ill, and had to be on my guard in case of assassins or provocateurs, especially once you arrived,” he explained. “Here…I made some concessions for the negotiations. To prove my good faith.”

“Your armor?”

“And more,” he nodded. “And…holding such an illusion takes a great deal of energy. I can cast only the smallest of magics while doing so. I am trusting in others to keep you safe at the moment.”

“Oh. So when we leave…” she let the question hang unsaid in the air, and he nodded sadly.

“I am afraid so. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I get it. But every once in a while, maybe come and do this again in New York. We’ll be incognito,” she invited. “Just another couple at the Strand, or in Central Park.”

“That sounds delightful,” he agreed. “Or perhaps you would prefer to watch me spar with the good Captain.” She blinked. Twice. “You thought I did not know?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t,” came a familiar voice from over her shoulder, and Darcy whirled around to see Tony Stark coming out the back door with a steaming mug in his hand. “Until late last night.”

“What are you doing here?” Darcy asked, her voice rising, and Tony waved his empty hand at her.

“I am not the boss you’re looking for. Not at the moment, Vespa. I was already here when you called the other day, hun.”

“Okay. Okay,” she agreed, nodding slowly. “So you told him about the thing with Cap what, over brandies in the library?” She tried, she really did, to keep her voice level, but she must not have succeeded, because Tony jerked back in surprise. “I handled that, Tony.”

“Okay.” Tony looked around, found a table, set his mug down before approaching her. “You did. You handled that, Darcy. You handled it well, and with a lot more maturity than I would have. But. Facts. If the Avengers have to work with Vic for anything, and Cap starts being a dick, he deserves to know why Cap’s being a dick. I wasn’t going behind your back. I was informing my ally and friend why my other ally and friend might not communicate well right now.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, her irritation dissipating. “Damn. I apologize.”

“It’s okay. I get it, Short Stack,” Tony replied with a small smile. “You thought the boys’ club was going?”

“Or the let’s fight over Darcy as if she’s a prize club, yeah,” Darcy admitted, and Tony snorted.

“Oh, hell no. Nope. I’m an asshole, I jump to conclusions sometimes, I fuck a lot of things up, Darce, but no.” He winked. “Though I have noted the distinct lack of onion seed bagels at brunch lately.”

“Hmm? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Darcy said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Yeah, okay. So! I’m heading back home today. You have the rest of the week, but I’m expecting you back at your desk on Monday morning.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed, smiling. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Yeah. Logan’s gonna call Nightcrawler to jump you. You okay with that?”

“I haven’t seen Kurt in half of forever, so yes.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then sighed, rolling his eyes as he extended his arms. “I know you want to.” Darcy went for it, hugging Tony tightly; he didn’t often let her, or anyone, into his personal space, not that she blamed him after all the shit he’d been through.

“Still Lando,” she muttered, just to make sure he didn’t get cocky.

“You know what? I’ll take it,” he muttered back. “Vespa.”

“I didn’t think I looked Druish.”

“Ha!” Tony laughed, then stepped back out of her arms. “Well I --“

“Everyone inside,” Laura Howlett ran out the back door, claws on both hands extended, her hair whipping in a sudden breeze. “Inside, now, there’s been an attack on Stark Tower, and we’re not sure if we’re compromised.”

“Fuck.” Tony twisted his wrist, his gauntlet flipping up out of his watch. “Doom, get her inside and safe, I’ll cover you.” But Darcy was already running for the door, one hand dropping to her waist, where her modified taser rode.

“The nursery,” Laura called behind her. “Go to the nursery, Darce, it’s the safest place in the chateau!” She nodded needlessly and added speed, saving her breath for the run. Through the kitchen, the dining room, around the front hall and up the stairs, she saw Jubilee outside the nursery door, lights flickering around her hands.

“Go on in,” the younger woman said, jerking her head toward the door. “The knights have already been mobilized; we’ll all likely be evac’ed to Broceliande when they get here.”

“Knights? Broceliande?” Darcy managed to ask, and Jubie smirked.

“Isa will explain.”

“Darcy,” Victor said behind her, and she stopped, turning to face him. God, he was so fine like this…whatever had happened to fuck his face up had to have been bad. “I will go and help the Wolverines guard the chateau. Darcy, do not look out the windows. Understood?”

“I -- no?” She managed as he pulled her tight to him.

“I can cast nothing powerful like this,” he explained softly. “And I do not have my armor.”

“You don’t want me to see you,” she said, and he nodded, looking down at her mournfully.

"Exactly.”

“Then I won’t look. I promise, Victor. Now, kiss me before you go?”

“Gladly.” He bent his head to hers, wrapping long arms around her, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, even her nose before finally settling over her lips, the kiss sweet for all its brevity. “Stay with Isabelle,” he commanded, then let her go, turning his back to her.

“Stay safe,” she called, and went into the nursery. Isabelle had Sophie in an over the shoulder sling, the baby’s head resting on her breast. Her grandmother was packing a diaper bag, and the man she’d met the night before, Ragoczi, was looking out the window.

“Come over here, Darce,” Isabelle said softly. “Away from the window, just in case.” She obeyed, coming to kneel next to the rocking chair.

“What happened?” She asked, and Isabelle shook her head.

“We don’t know details yet. Only that Stark Tower was attacked. We’ll be moving to a secure location very soon.”

“I thought -- I mean, you’re a handful all on your own, Tony’s here, both Wolverines and Jubie, I would have thought this was a secure location,” Darcy sighed, and Isabelle snickered.

“Oh, this is secure enough for most threats. But…” Isabelle bit her lip, swallowing before she spoke again, hair fluttering in a little breeze. “Let’s just say my family is very, very protective. Especially of babies.”

“Isabeau,” Ragoczi said without turning around. “Perhaps you should enlighten Miss Lewis as to who your family is.”

“Si, Maestro,” Isabelle said softly before turning to Darcy again. “My great-uncle is the King of Broceliande, Darcy. King Hoel, and Queen Iolanthe, of Broceliande. A Faerie Court.”

“One of nine,” Ragoczi added. “There are nine Glorious Courts left, and all of them are beyond human reach. The moment we were informed that Stark Tower had been infiltrated, I sent a message; the Knights will be here to escort us there momentarily.”

“Wait.” Darcy took a breath, closing her eyes. “Fairies?”

“Fairies,” Isabelle confirmed. “That’s why Victor contacted me to begin with; the Court of Broceliande is related to several high ranking ministers in the French government, and works with them on occasion. He wanted --“

“He wanted to make a deal,” Darcy breathed. “With powers that could tug strings.”

“For Latveria.” Ragoczi glanced over his shoulder at the two women. “And he will likely have to pay a price for it that he will not enjoy; the last time he had any dealings with the Glorious Courts, he backed Morgana le Faye’s bid to take Lyonesse. It did not end well for the usurper.”

“Okay,” Darcy breathed, and took her phone from her pocket, ignoring the way her hands shook as she texted. She paused before she hit send, though. “What are the -- the Glorious Courts’ current standing with New Asgard?”

“Broceliande has ever been a friend to the Golden Realm,” Ragoczi answered her rather than Isabelle.

“Then they won’t have an issue with Loki?”

“The King’s Advisor has often been a guest of King Hoel and Queen Iolanthe.”

“Awesome.” SEND. One breath. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven -- a glimmering of green and golden light appeared in the room, and then Loki stepped out of it, his eyes scanning and falling on Darcy.  
“Systir? You are well?”  


“So far,” she said, standing to meet him. “Stark Tower was attacked. We don’t know who yet, or who sent them. Apparently we’re all going to Broceliande --“  


“No. Where is Doom?”  


“Outside, guarding the chateau until the escort arrives,” Ragoczi said, turning now to face Loki. “Your Highness.”  


“Master Leopold. How very nice to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” Loki said, though Darcy could see the worry and fear in his eyes now. “Madam Howlett.”  


“Your Grace,” Isabelle nodded.  


“Darcy. How do you end up in these circumstances?” Loki sighed, turning back to her.  


“I didn’t --“  


“No; no, do not mistake me, systir. I know you did nothing. What is it you wish of me?” He asked gently.

“Can you get to Bro -- Bro --“ her tongue tripped over the unfamiliar word.  


“Broceliande,” Loki supplied. “Yes.”  


“Great. Can you get some intel on what exactly happened at the Tower, and bring us news?”  


“Certainly, systir…though you will owe me a favor.”  


“I already owe you like, a dozen.”  


“Excellent. So glad you agree,” he winked. “Then as soon as all of this ruckus is cleared up, and you are at home again, I would like twelve -- no, thirteen batches of lemon bars.”  


“Done,” Darcy agreed. “And…and can you check in on my Opa and Oma?” His eyes softened even more as he bowed his head in acquiescence.  


“It is my pleasure. I will see you in Broceliande shortly.” With another flicker of green and gold light, he shimmered out of existence. A few seconds later, Ragoczi stepped back from the windows.  


“Our escort has arrived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO!
> 
> Next up: A big softie gets irked, has a chat with someone else, and Loki gets his information. And an upgrade.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations of all sorts

Maria looked up, half-snarling, as her office door opened without a knock, then bit it back at the sight of the huge…man…stepping carefully sideways through it.  Blue eyes shone out of orange rock, the slit-like mouth curved up in half a grin, as The Thing held up a Shake Shack bag.  “Hey there.  You Hill?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, mouth already watering at the scent that wafted toward her, half-rising from her desk as the Thing approached, holding out the bag.  “And if that’s a double cheeseburger --“

“Nah.  It’s two, an’ a double order o’ fries, with a chocolate shake.  Potts said you ain’t left the office in almost two days, said you needed to come up for air.  So.”  He shrugged, huge shoulders rising and falling as he looked at the chair in front of her desk, snorted, then sank down onto the floor, instead.

“Bless you,” Maria said, and dove into the food.  Apparently Thing had gotten himself some, too, because for the next few minutes, the only sound was appreciative moans and chewing before another scent hit her nose.  “You have onion rings?”

“Yep.  Want some?  I got four orders.”  He held up a packet of golden deep fried manna, and she nodded, handing him one of her packets of fries in exchange. 

“Oh my God, I might just survive,” Maria sighed once she’d gone through her first burger and a packet of fries.  “Thank you, Mr. Grimm.”

“No problem,” he said, leaning back against the wall carefully.  “So this is all -- what do you do, anyway?”

“I’m the head of SI’s corporate espionage division,” she explained, pulling her chair around to face him better.  “And I help the Avengers with logistics.”

“Right, right.  Used to be SHIELD, dint’cha?  I know I’ve seen you with Patch.”

“Used to be,” she agreed, keeping her voice as flat as possible, but something must have shown on her face, because Grimm sat up, cocking his head at her.

“Everything okay on that front?”

“I…” the pressure of the last few days weighed so heavily on her shoulders.  First Nick’s call, then the Yagina’s infiltration, then Ludya’s turn yesterday morning…her head dropped, and she had to take a breath to keep from bursting into tears.  She was hard, she was tough, but everyone had their breaking point, after all.  A gentle touch on her ankle made her look up into those startlingly blue eyes again.

“Hey.  You wanna talk about it?”

“FRIDAY, protocol Muffliato,” she said after a moment.

“Muffliato confirmed, Miss Hill,” the AI answered her as she reached out and Grimm took her hand.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.  “Not at all.  But I think I’d better.”

 

 

 

 

“Hey, Wilson,” Grimm said as he entered the Avengers’ common living room a few hours later.  “Who do I have ta see about letting somebody stay on Avengers’ floors instead’a the regular residential area?”  Sam looked up from his StarkPad, raising an eyebrow.

“Usually it’d be Tony, but he’s not here; I’d guess talk to Pepper?  And that’s just a guess.”

“Thanks.”  Grimm didn’t go anywhere else, though, just stayed where he was, looking a little lost, and Sam sat up on his stool, then slid off of it, waving the big lug to come with him as he led the guy into the bar area. 

“What do you drink, Grimm?  And it is Grimm, right?”

“Call me Ben.  Ah…just a beer will do me, I don’t get along with the hard stuff,” the Thing said, coming to stand in front of the bar.  Sam nodded, pulled a draft into a frosty mug, slid it into the huge orange hand.  He waited for Grimm to empty it, readying another while he did so. 

“So what’s up?”  Sam asked as Grimm emptied the second, and the stone face sneered.

“Fuckin’ Fury.  That’s all I’m gonna say just yet, but…” he shook his head.  “You ever see somebody you think is stone cold, and then they break on you?”

“I can relate,” Sam said, pouring himself a beer as well.  “Natasha and I are pretty committed, I think.”  Grimm’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening.

“You and the Widow?”

“Yep.  I hold her purse,” Sam said with an easy grin.  “My lady’s a badass.”

“I always thought her and Hawkeye were… you know, a thing,” Grimm shrugged, and Sam shook his head.

“Nah.  They’re like brother and sister.  They tried it, Clint told me, way back when she first came in out of the cold, but it just wasn’t there.  Now I’m not saying ever step between them, ‘cause I sure hell won’t, and I adore my ‘Tasha and Clint’s my brother from another mother, but they’re not a thing, thing.”

“Yeah, okay,” Grimm nodded slowly.  “I get that.  It’s like me and Susie after…after she got with Reed.  Sure.  Yeah, I…I just spent an hour bein’ cried on by one of SHIELD’s best agents, other than the Murder Twins.  And I’m not real fuckin’ happy about it, and Fury’d better pray he don’t show his face anywhere near me for a while.”

“Oh?  Hill, I guess?”

“Yeah.”  Oh, shit, Sam thought, holding back his grin with both hands and a come along.  The stony face kind of…melted, really, blue eyes lighting up as he grinned sheepishly.  “I’ve seen her around, you know.  She’s a firecracker, but not the kind of gal you ask to the ball game, I thought.  Turns out, what do ya know, she’s just as human as anybody else.”

“And Fury’s involved somehow?”  Storm clouds gathered, clouding the Thing’s eyes as the rocky brows clenched together again.

“Yeah.  I won’t go into detail, just he’s involved, and I wanna punch the fucker all the way to Yancey Street.”  Grimm’s upper lip curled up into a sneer again.  “He may be enhanced, he may not be, I don’t give no fucks, he ain’t never been on the other end of one of my punches.”

“Sure, sure, and I don’t wanna be, either, man,” Sam said, holding up his hands in a “peace” gesture.  “So you wanna get Hill into our levels?”

“Security’s tighter,” Grimm shrugged.  “Dunno why she’s not yet anyway.”

“No, that’s a thing,” Sam agreed.  “Hang on.  FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Birdbrain?”  The AI said pleasantly, and Sam huffed as Grimm laughed.

“Who programmed that?”

“Boss did, sorry.”

“Should have figured.  When’s Pepper going to be free?”

“Boss Lady is in a meeting right now, and afterwards she has to get a flight to Sao Paulo, but I can patch you through on her way,” FRIDAY offered.

“No, not for me.  Mr. Grimm needs to speak to Pepper when she finds it convenient, is all.”

“Of course.  Mr. Grimm, Boss says to tell you that as soon as he gets home, he wishes to discuss your employment and your Avengers’ status; he says for you to head down to R&D sometime, there’s people who want to talk to you, and at least one familiar face.  Miss Lyja Skrull.”

“Lyja’s workin’ for Stark?”  Grimm asked.  “What’s she do?”

“Miss Skrull is part of R&D Security, and she helps back engineer alien and foreign technologies,” FRIDAY supplied.  “She’s been notified that you’re here, and says she’s looking forward to catching up whenever you have some time.”

“Huh.  I din’t know Lyja was here,” Grimm said, almost to himself.

“Friend of yours?”  Sam asked, making a grabby hands gesture to the two mugs in front of him, and he handed them back.

“Kinda.  Lyja’s…she’s a Skrull.  Took the form of…an old gal of mine, was married to Johnny for a while.  She’s not a bad kid, she renounced the Skrulls and everything, she just got mixed up in her head when it came to Johnny.”  Grimm shrugged.  “I always liked her, we just fell out o’ touch, you know how it is.”

“Sure do,” Sam agreed, handing Ben a refill.  “How are you liking the Tower, though?”

“S great,” Grimm said, flattening his hands on the bar.  “I know I ain’t been real friendly just yet.  Sorry about that.  Just, things have -- there’s been a lot o’ crap gone down with the Four, I’m tryin’ ta get my head together.  Didn’t think I’d be great company, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded.  “I get it.  You’re welcome to join us up here whenever you want, or hang in your place some more, either way.  I just wanted to check in and make sure there’s no bad blood or anything like that.”

“Nah.  You guys are fine,” Grimm waved it off.  “Besides, I been on the phone a lot with Susie.  She’s…” Grimm sighed.  “She’s pregnant again, and she’s scared that’s gonna screw up the divorce with Reed.”

“Oh, no.  It might,” Sam agreed.  “It’s his?”

“Yeah.  And he’s already making noise about Frankie, but Frankie doesn’t want nothin’ to do with him.  Not that it ever really mattered before, I guess.  I gotta admit, he ain’t ever been the world’s greatest dad.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed.  “What is it with super genius types?”

“Hell if I know, and I been livin’ with Reed for more’n twenny years,” Grimm sighed as well.  “Just…he used to be okay.  He’d get caught up in stuff, sure, but he’d get his shit together for a while.  Then…then it just all fell to shit.”

“Did he really try to run over Tony with that --“

“I seen that.  It sure looked like it to me,” Grimm agreed.  “An’ I dunno why.  He and Tony ain’t never been real great friends, but jeez.”  Grimm shook his head, looking down at the bar.  “An’ Vic bein’ a…hell, a voice o’ reason.  It ain’t natural.”

“Yeah, what’s your take on that?”  Sam asked evenly.  “The whole leopard changing his spots?”  Grimm looked up, mouth quirked in an odd angle.  “Helping his neighbors.  Asking the UN to come into Latveria.  He signed a mutual defense treaty with Poland, Ukraine, and Romania, and rumor, and this is just rumor, has it that Sokovia’s going to ask him to sign one with them, too.”

“I think…” Grimm said slowly.  “I think I dunno what’s happened.  Vic’s always been a dick.  Always.  I’ve known him as long as I’ve known Reed, and he’s always been a giant pain in the ass, thinkin’ he’s too good for the likes of anybody else.  Smarter, faster, stronger, an’ before the -- before the explosion -- better lookin’.  And he could just almost back all of that up, too.  He was damn good lookin’, back in the day.  And I was a football player, and he could beat me armwrestlin’.  I always -- hell.”  Grimm looked down at his hands again, splayed out orange against the dark walnut grain of the bar.  “I used to give him all kinds o’ hell,” he muttered.  “I don’t think I turned him into a supervillain or nothin’, but I used to be just as big a dick to him as he was to me.”

“You think maybe it was just really two assertive guys pushing at each other, trying to see who was alpha?”  Sam asked, and Grimm shrugged.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I -- I guess.  And then everything was all like, set in stone, kind of.  Vic got his powers and all, set about tryin’ ta conquer the world every other month, and we’d smart off ta each other while we fought.  It was…it was a pattern.”

“Patterns can be broken,” Sam offered.

“Yeah.  Or changed,” Grimm agreed.  He sighed, deeply, and gave Sam a watery smile.  “Stark told me he’s datin’ an Avengers support person, and he shows up here sometimes now.  I said I’d be okay if Vic was.  I meant it, I just -- I think it’s gonna be harder, mebbe, than I thought for us not to fall into those old habits.”

“You can be the bigger man, if he starts something,” Sam said quietly.  “But from the times I’ve seen him, he’s a very different man than the one I used to see on TV.  I know it’s hard to break patterns, but try giving him a chance, and see how that works.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m gonna try.  We’re all --“ Grimm shook his head.  “We’ve all been just kinda livin’ like we’re all still at Empire U, us four and Vic.  Snarkin’ and snappin’ at each other, and we’re all the back side o’ forty these days.  ‘Bout time we grew up.  It ain’t surprisin’ that Vic’d go do it first.”  He finished his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Thanks, Wilson.”

“Sam,” Sam said, offering his hand.  “Sam Wilson, they call me Falcon.  Welcome to the Avengers, Mr. Grimm.”

“You guys ain’t voted me in yet,” Grimm said, but he shook Sam’s hand anyway; the texture was amazing, his skin felt like tiny pebbles all stuck together into a larger mass, like rocks in asphalt, or amber, even.  “Ben Grimm, formerly of the Fantastic Four.  They call me The Thing.”

“Well, Ben,” Sam said, “what are your thoughts about pizza and bad movies?  Starting with The Happening?”

“Do we get to throw popcorn?”

“It’s almost a requirement.”

Ben’s grin could have lit up the sky.  “I think I’m gonna like bein’ an Avenger.”

 

 

Pepper, Happy, and Rhodes settled into the jet, the War Machine and RESCUE armors already on board.  They were fairly silent as the plane took off and gained altitude, waiting for the service staff to finish their rounds before huddling together.  “Half a dozen?”  Pepper asked, and Rhodes nodded, his face pulled into a grim line.

“And no guarantees all of them are aboveboard.  We’ve left the message to ask for sanctuary everywhere; I can almost promise you that HYDRA has picked it up.”

“Damn it,” Pepper sighed.  “And Maria’s tied up with the Yagina issues, and Tony’s overseas dealing with some of the political fallout over there.”

“Which means,” Happy said, looking anything but, “nobody goes anywhere without an SI Security team that’s been thoroughly vetted.  Yeah, yeah, I know you got the stuff, and I know you’re military,” he went on before either of his companions could speak.  “But your safety is my responsibility, and I take that seriously.  You both know that.”

“We know, Happy,” Pepper agreed with a soft smile.  “I only wish we could know something solid about this group that showed up out of the blue.”

“First things first.  Have they been questioned yet?”  Rhodes asked, and Happy nodded, handing him a file, and he began to page through it as Pepper’s phone pinged.  She looked down to check who it was.  “Luke Skywalker,” the display read, and she giggled before she could stop herself.

“Hello?”

“Miss Potts?”  Loki’s smooth velvet voice purred into the air.  “I beg your pardon, madam, for disturbing you, but Darcy asked me to speak with you regarding the recent security breach at the Tower.  She and Master Stark are safe,” he went on, “as are the Howletts and their entourage.”

“Your Highness,” Pepper replied when she recovered her voice.  “I didn’t know you had my number.”

“Beg pardon, I took it from Darcy’s phone.”

“Why isn’t she calling me?  Or Tony?”

“Because they are being moved, along with the Howletts, to a more secure location -- you are aware of Madame Howlett’s extended family ties?”  He asked, and Pepper felt the blood draining from her face.

“The -- the royal line?”  She managed to change from saying “the Fairy Host?” just in time.

“Indeed.  Their security has come to escort the entirety, including von Doom, to their enclave.”

“I…see.  What did you say Darcy wanted to know?”  Pepper went on, holding up her hand as James started to speak.

“She only asked if I would, ‘gather intel,’ were her words.  And to check on her Opa and Oma, which I am currently in their kitchen and are simply delightful, and I am appalled that Thor and I have never taken the time to meet them before,” Loki chuckled.

“I see.  Does your phone have a decent memory, Your Highness?  It would be simpler if I just sent you the files,” Pepper replied.

“It is the latest StarkPhone model available to the public, top of the line,” Loki drawled.  “Master Stark invents such wondrous trinkets.”

“Doesn’t he just,” Pepper couldn’t help but smile herself.  “All right.  I’m sending you several files, one video that’s about an hour long.  Please don’t make me regret it.”

“Madam Potts, I may be chaos and mischief incarnate, but this involves Darcy,” Loki said, his voice suddenly very serious.  “I assure you, when it comes to her safety, I am the epitome of discretion.”

“Of course.  I apologize, Your Highness.  There’s no reception at the -- secured area?”

“No; most modern technology simply fails once beyond the borders,” Loki said, though not unkindly.  “It will work perfectly again once back in mortal lands, but the inherent magic of the Courts interferes with most technologies.”

“But you have access?”

“The Golden Realms have ever had friendly relations with the various Courts.  We do not wish for that to change now that we are rebuilding New Asgard.”

“I see.  I -- I hate to ask you a personal favor, Your Highness --“

“As you should; I am no errand boy.”

“Not at all!  But if you should have the opportunity, please tell Tony to come home as soon as possible?  In exchange, I’ll give you the absolute latest StarkPhone, it hasn’t been released to the public yet,” Pepper offered, frantically grasping at straws for something Loki might think was worth his time.

“In green?”  He said after a moment.

“In green and gold,” Pepper replied.

“Deal.  I will call under the name you see at the Tower for it tomorrow morning at ten.”

“It’ll be waiting for you at the front desk,” she promised.

“Excellent.  Thank you for the information, Madam Potts, and it has been a pleasure to do business with you.”  The line clicked dead, and Pepper sat back, grabbing for her wineglass.  She took a sip, then sat back up, glaring at Rhodes as he opened his mouth again.

“FRIDAY.  You monitored the call?”

“Yes, Boss-Lady.  I’m making arrangements for the phone for the Prince, and sending him the files now,” came the answer, and Pepper sat back again.

“Now you can talk,” she sighed, and Rhodey didn’t wait a second.

“How do you know you can trust him?”  He demanded.  “This is LOKI you’re talking about, Pepper!”

“Because if he lied, the people he was lying about are powerful enough to ensure that he’ll pay for it,” she replied.  “And if he was telling the truth, then Tony needs all the information we currently have -- and again, the people he’s talking about, they have a vested interest in the Yagina.  They’re probably related somehow.”

“What was all that about royalty and courts and all?”  Happy asked, frowning.  “I don’t get it.”

“I can’t tell you,” Pepper said, shaking her head. 

“Why not?”

“Because it has to do with La Sylphide’s extended family, and I promised her and them that I wouldn’t talk about it,” Pepper sighed.  “And I don’t break promises, Happy.”  Not to mention she really did not want to find out what the consequences would be if she broke a promise to a Faerie King.   Both Happy and Rhodey looked askance at her, though.  “Isabelle Howlett is a mutant,” she stressed.  “We have a good relationship with her, her family, and both the Wolverines.  I’d like to keep it that way.”  Neither man looked pleased with her decision, but they backed down, Happy’s shoulders coming back down from around his ears, Rhodey’s posture softening a fraction. 

“I still wish we could have pulled Widow and Hawkeye for this instead of you,” Happy groused, changing the subject, but Pepper shook her head.

“We need them at the Tower in case more of the Yagina escape,” she countered.  “One turned, but we still have three possible hostiles  in custody.  And if the one that the CIA captured gets loose, Ludya said she wasn’t sure if Darya would come back for the rest or if she would go to ground and try to get back to Russia.  Widow and Hawkeye are the ones most likely to come up with adequate defense strategies if something goes wrong.”

“And the one in the compound?”  Rhodey asked.

“Luckily, she’s being treated by Doctor Strange and Doctor Voodoo,” Pepper replied.  “Between the two of them, she’s taken care of.  Something about falling traps around her medical bed, I’m not sure.”  Her phone chirped again, and she felt tears prick at her eyelids as she saw “Your personal Genius” pop up on the screen.  “Tony?” 

“Hey, Pep.”  His voice was low, but not stressed any more than usual.  “Ah…I may be a little later getting home than I said I would be.  What’s this about someone infiltrating the Tower?”

“Two groups of three hostiles, three days ago,” Rhodey took over.  “All female, call themselves Yagina.  One turned yesterday morning, asked for asylum and sanctuary.  Seems to be on the level, gave us a lot of information.”

“Tony, you might want to bring this up to your new hosts,” Pepper said quickly.  “They claim to be descendants of Baba Yaga, captured as children and turned into agents -- a lot like the Black Widow program.”

“Christ.  If I get a chance, Pep, I will.  What are the chances of their knowing where I am?  What were they after?”  Pepper hesitated; she had no idea of an answer to the first question, and she knew exactly how Tony would take the answer to the second.  “Jim?”

“They didn’t know you weren’t on site,” Rhodes replied, his mouth a grim line.  “Their mission was to capture Darcy Anna Lewis for extraction and return to Russia.”

Silence stretched out for long, long seconds before Tony spoke again.  “They wanted Darcy.”

“That’s what we were informed.  Capture with injury or mental influence was acceptable.”  A deep breath came over the line before Tony spoke again.

“Well.  FRIDAY, initiate manufacture of SHOCKER, Phase IV.  She’ll get her Christmas bonus a little early.  Pep, I’m told I’ll be incommunicado until we leave; I could come home, but I think I’d better go with.  Darcy’s not getting out of my sight.  And we’ll be having a chat, guys, about need to know information; I should have been told as soon as this happened.”

“Isabelle told me you didn’t need to be in the suit after the welcoming party you got from Logan,” Pepper countered.  “I used my best judgment.”

“Pep, someone broke into our home,” Tony began, then sighed.  “I should have been told.”

“Don’t blame her,” Rhodey broke in.  “I made a command decision.  I was hoping that you’d bring Lewis home with you and we’d be able to debrief you both at once.”

“Jesus.  FRIDAY, you knew about this, too?”

“Of course, Boss.  I agreed with Colonel Rhodes and Boss Lady.  Logan may not have broken anything, but your ribs were severely bruised, and --“

“You got in a fight with Logan?”  Rhodey cut in.  “Christ, Tony, why?”

“Because someone who shall remain nameless dropped a bug in my ear about Creed,” Tony snapped.  “I don’t have time to go into it, we’re moving.  We’ll all talk when I get home.”

“We may not be there; we’re headed to Sao Paulo to pick up some SHIELD stragglers,” Rhodes said.  “Expect us back within 48 hours.”

“Right.  Okay.  If you’re not?”

“If we’re not, then something has gone seriously wrong.”

“Great.  Wonderful.  Amazing,” Tony snapped.  “I -- sorry, Platypus, sorry, Pep.  Just hang in there, I’ll be home as soon as I can, with our space princess in tow.”  The line clicked dead.

“I’ve lost signal,” FRIDAY said, worry creeping into her voice.  “I’ve lost signal with Boss entirely.”

“It’s okay, FRIDAY,” Pepper hastened to reassure the AI.  “Loki said that would happen.”

“I don’t like it,” FRIDAY said quietly.  “How can I take care of Boss if I don’t know where he is?”

“Just…you have to trust.  You have to trust our friends, and you have to trust him.”  Pepper laid her hand on her phone, trying to be soothing.  “He’s fine.  He’s with friends.”

“And Darcy?”

“The same.  The Wolverines will die before anything happens to either of them, you know how they are about their friends, FRIDAY.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I know.”

 

 

 

Loki knew now where Darcy had received her mothering; Anna Jabrowski radiated care and compassion, just as she did, just as his mother had, and he regretted leaving both she and her husband Jacob behind…but needs must.  He left a few spells in place around their home before he departed, however, traps that would leap into action should anyone try to enter the small home with hostile intent.  He read the files Ms. Potts had sent him first before watching the video link of this…Yagina.  Ludya. 

Well.  Wouldn’t this upset the applecart.  He could almost hear the old hag screeching now.

“Heimdall,” he said, knowing that the Gatekeeper would hear him, “a message for Thor, please.  Tell him that Darcy has found herself wrapped up in plot and policy that is beyond her entirely, and I will be a few days more.  Thank you.”

One did not simply teleport into Broceliande or any of the Faerie Lands, however.  No, he would have to take the hidden paths between dimensions.  He only hoped Darcy and Anthony could keep themselves from irritating or insulting their hosts before he arrived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, then.
> 
> I am going to try to keep up but posting will become irregular again because this is as far as I've gotten, and I have a dayjob that is currently paying for EVERYTHING because my husband is one of those feds who isn't getting paid right now. If you're of a religious bent, please pray that our government gets its collective head out of its ass, thanks.
> 
> Coming Friday or Saturday: Broceliande, with ALL it entails. 
> 
> Stay Tuned, True Believers!  
> Excelsior!


End file.
